Oath
by StormyInk
Summary: She didn't want to leave Eren but her past had caught up with her and she refused to let those shadowy fingers reach him, refused to keep putting him in danger, even if it meant tearing herself out of his life. "Are you coming?" Levi asked her & she looked away from the boy who'd saved her life all those years ago. It was time to keep the oath she'd made. "Yes. I am."
1. Splinter

_This is for Rita, who was one of my first friends on tumblr, and who actually encouraged me to watch SNK in the first place. She deleted her tumblr and I've missed her ever since. I wrote this thing for you anyway in the hopes that, when and if, you come back, you'll see I kept my promise. _

_And yes, yes, damn you, you made me ship it. _

* * *

_~Eleven years ago~_

"She escaped?"

Levi broke from his reverie, pulled his hand away from his mouth, his back cramped from being hunched for so long. He folded his hands together, glaring. "Yes."

Claude sat on the edge of the scarred table, fiddling with his butterfly knife nervously. "We have all of the others. We have plenty of them, men and woman and even some kids, all healthy. I don't think he'll care if he gets one less woman. I don't think there's anything to worry about—she's just one that escaped, that's all. He'll get his money's worth."

Levi hummed, drumming his fingertips on his knee, his other hand raking his hair back. _Move them, _he thought, _hide their shaking._ "She was a coveted pretty piece, from a specific clan from his homeland. He wanted her quite badly." _Very badly._ "He'll cause a shit storm once he realizes we won't deliver her."

Claude shifted, awkwardly twisting his body, driving his blade through the soft, decayed wood between them.

"We can get her back. I have a few guys who are good enough to make sure of it. Bloodhounds, really—they can sniff out a mouse from miles away."

"No." Levi eyed the blade bitten into the table's surface, tried not to think of it biting into her pale flesh. "We'll leave it be. We don't know where she's at. For all we know she could have gone to the authorities. They could have a setup, expecting us to go after, waiting to flush us out. It's too risky. We'll just tell him she killed herself. Hung herself or threw herself out the back of the van or a window, anything, but she's gone. Understand?"

"We can find her, though." Claude pressed, carving into the table viciously, his lanky blonde hair falling over his furrowed brow. "We can say she escaped but we're looking for her. Maybe we can get him to pay a little more, you know, for the trouble of dragging the bitch back." He kept carving. "Maybe we can even have a little fun with her for all the fucking trouble she's causing."

Levi's fury cracked through him, unblinking as he kicked the leg of the table, throwing Claude off, the blade cutting into his thumb and palm.

"What the fuck, Levi—"

"I said she's fucking gone, Claude, get it through your fucking skull. He wouldn't pay us to find what we lost. Do you think everyone's as stupid as you?" The trembling was getting worse but he bit through it. "Put that blade away before I shove it up your ass. Swallow your shit instead of spewing it all over the place."

Claude held his bleeding hand to his chest, his dull blue eyes glinting with restrained fury. "I was just trying to help—"

"Well, don't. You never fucking do." Levi stood, hiding his stiff limbs with a casual lean against the window, his lungs tight as he gazed down at the buildings and streets below. All oblivious, all ignorant, unknowing, unaware of how merciful their blindness was.

"Fine. But we're losing a lot of money for just one stupid, tenacious bitch." He bent, lifting his bloodied blade from the ground, the soft stomps of his boots and the slam of the door making Levi wind up tighter, knew he was close to breaking.

But he couldn't, he reminded himself, shutting his eyes, slowing his breathing. This life was a hard one but he was harder, and he'd fucking chew nails if he had to, merrily fucking pull on more chains, dig his own grave deeper.

For her. Because she was soft, she was goodness. He'd gladly damn himself to a life of enslavement, swallow his soul up in filth, to keep her free and running, to keep her as clean and pure as she was, keep her away from the life he'd chained himself to, no matter how much his hollow chest ached.

He'd already dragged her into these filthy waters deep enough—but it had been necessary to bring her across the seas, to get her out of her warring, dangerous homeland. It had been the only way, her only chance of a good life. It had been risky, and he'd almost been caught but he'd slipped her through their grubby fingers quickly enough. She was safe for now, but a far way from being completely out of harm's way.

And he needed to clean this shit up before anyone put the pieces together. He flexed his scarred knuckles, wondered if he had enough left in him to do what he had to.

He needed to make her truly disappear—far enough that even his own filthy hands couldn't reach her.

* * *

_~Eleven Years Later~_

"She's pretty." Armin murmured, his small pale fingers gripping the chain fence, his blue eyes peering from behind it. "How old is she?"

"Nine." Eren murmured, shrugging as he pulled himself up off the grass. "Our age. Her name is Mikasa." He brushed away the bits of clinging dirt and blades. "That's what my mom said."

"Oh. Mikasa." Armin murmured, pulling away from the fence. "She looks very happy." Armin's cheeks were bright and pink, the color clashing starkly with the ink blue of his eyes. "Doesn't she, Eren?"

"Yeah." Eren's stormy green eyes narrowed as he joined Armin's careful watching of the girl, the tinkle of her pretty laughter carrying in the cold breeze as her father ruffled her long black hair. She had very nice skin, Eren thought, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen anyone with eyes as dark as hers. He'd never seen _features_ quite like hers really, except perhaps on television—and except for her mother, who was also very, very pretty.

He looked back up, seeing her swing through the monkey bars quickly, oddly graceful for her age. He could only get about halfway before his fingers betrayed him and he hit the ground. She reached the other side, hopping down, shyly looking up at her father, seeking his approval.

"You don't think she's pretty?" Armin pressed.

Eren blinked a little owlishly. He had remembered blushing when he'd met her mother at the supermarket the other day, her gentle smile oddly pleasing. "I guess. But lots of girls are pretty."

Armin's eyes shimmered curiously. "I've never heard you call any other girls pretty."

Eren scowled a little, adjusting his scarf, grabbing Armin's sleeve and tugging. "Come on, it's cold and it's getting late."

Armin kept smiling, nodding and falling into step beside Eren. "It's still kind of early." He looked up at the twilight sky, then glanced at him perceptively. "Did they shorten your curfew again?"

"Tch," Eren shoved his small hands into his coat pockets, a little guilt creeping into him, remembering the last time he'd gotten them both into trouble. "They didn't. I'm just cold." Eren lied, eyeing the darkening sky, the way the street had quickly emptied. They didn't live in the most dangerous part of town but neither was it the safest. The houses weren't too close together, and the woods about them were thick and shadowy, and he'd watched the news enough to know that sometimes bad things happened in them. "I'm hungry." He jutted out his chin, walking mulishly.

He could try his best to defend Armin but he wouldn't risk it if he didn't have to.

Armin smiled, walking beside him. "Okay."

They were just passing an alley when the sound of hushed male voices made them freeze. Eren turned stiffly, seeing four scraggly looking men huddled together, walking towards them.

"Hurry, Armin." Eren grabbed Armin's hand, linking their fingers, tugging them both forward. "If they try to grab at us you run, alright?" He felt his heart pound, all the warnings his mother had drilled into his skull springing forward. "Get help and I'll try to hold those bastards off."

"You shouldn't curse." Armin said reflexively, keeping his gaze on the ground, letting Eren pull him forward, his jagged breaths fogging the air. "And Eren—I wouldn't—I won't leave you—let's just run. There's a fire station just around the corner we can both make it…your dad always said we should run there if we needed help—"

The men stepped out of the alley, inches from their backs, the scent of smoke and cloves and alcohol striking their noses offensively. Eren sucked in a deep breath, pushing Armin forward and bracing himself between them—when the thugs suddenly turned in the opposite direction, their gazes latched onto the park with unusual intensity.

_The park? _

Eren paused, looking over his shoulder, searching for Mikasa and her father—but they were gone. Or, so it seemed. From their angle they could only see half of the park, the building blocking the rest, but if he just took a few steps, maybe if he shouted he could warn them and give them time to—

"Eren." Armin pleaded, shaking his head. "We should go. They're looking at us, now."

Eren sucked in a deep breath, seeing the thugs watching them warily, their glares threatening, dirty fingers slipping into their pockets suggestively, a last warning.

And he _wasn't_ a coward but he wouldn't drag Armin into it, wouldn't risk hurting him. Not when he wasn't _sure._ Besides, it looked as if Mikasa and her dad had left already. Hadn't they? She _did _have her dad with her and he should know that being out on the streets at night wasn't safe. They were probably almost home by now.

He turned away with a last sharp glare at the thugs, his throat tight, swallowing the sharp ache that had appeared within it.

It didn't feel right. There was something going on, something his child's mind couldn't quite fathom, something ugly that made his small fists clench. "Alright. Let's go."

Armin let out a breath in relief. "I'm sure they're fine, Eren."

He nodded, unable to stop himself from looking back.

* * *

"It's no good." Grisha muttered, the words barely audible from between gritted teeth, putting down the woman's thin wrist. "They've been dead for hours." He placed his hands on his thighs, still kneeling, his words sounding strained but hopeful. "Eren is there a little girl nearby? Is Mikasa there?"

Eren spoke tonelessly. "No, she isn't."

His eyes felt unbearably dry, and he forced himself to blink, once, twice, slowly. They'd been killed, her dad dead with a neat, deep bullet hole in his gut—not the mom, though. It looked as if they'd blasted off most of her neck and shoulder, the bite deep, snapping the collarbone, and lower. It must have hurt, he thought dully, it couldn't have been the same gun.

"A shot gun." He heard his father murmur. "These houses are so far apart from one another…people hunt in these woods all the time." He shook his head. "Gun shots are normal."

_Normal._

It was huge, a crater on her small slim body, disfiguring the bones in her face. It almost looked as if some large beast had held her still and taken a bite out of her. Her last moments must have been agony.

And he knew who that beast was, and more importantly what they looked like. He'd seen the way those men had moved towards the park, like a pack of wolves, dragging the scent of prey into their lungs greedily.

He'd seen them lingering about before, knew they were trouble. He'd felt it. But he hadn't said anything. And now this had happened.

_She looks very happy._

He stared at the lifeless bodies splayed brokenly across the floorboards, like puppets cut from their strings, toys with dried up batteries.

_Doesn't she, Eren?_

"I'm going to call the police and request for an investigation. You wait for me down downstairs, don't touch anything." He felt his father look at him but couldn't pull himself back out of his head, simply stared wide eyed at the bodies on the ground. "Do you understand, Eren?"

He understood much, much too well.

* * *

It was strange, she thought, that she was not weeping. Perhaps it had all been too quick, too unreal, her mind had disconnected from her heart, and her body was simply holding them in the same shell, together, but separate.

Her body hurt in a numb sort of way. They hadn't _beaten _her but they had roughed her up some before throwing her into the back of their van, her face feeling swollen, the corner of her mouth spliced, blood crusting and flaking. She couldn't feel her fingers, the duct tape about her wrists biting hard enough to cut off her flow of blood and she was cold, she was ice—and it was all just a distant blur, as they shut the rusty van doors, imprisoning her.

"Hurry the fuck up." The driver, Claude, snapped and she looked up dully when he leaned over the seat, eyeing her critically. "Your mother really was a tenacious bitch." His lips curled up, the expression too feral to be a smile, his blue eyes as pale as ice. "But at least we got you." He cocked his head at her lack of response. "Don't try to run away or you'll get something worse than your mother did."

She looked away, focused her gaze on the back of the rotting seats, broken springs torn through the orange upholstery.

_Run? _

It's what her mother had screamed at her before shed fallen, her blood everywhere. But where could she run to? That was her home. Where could she go if not with them? Where else did she belong?

"You think Levi will be happy I found her?" She heard Claude ask the other thugs as they clambered in.

"Yeah," The man laughed, the sound twisted, awful. "I bet he'll let you suck him off right there."

She shut her eyes as they shifted the van into drive, their laughter like glass in her ears, uncaring of her fate.

* * *

_The girl is missing._

In the chaos of sirens and police lights and camera crews and reporters it had been easy for Eren to go unnoticed. His father was the head doctor for the town after all and so he was swept up into his job thoroughly, sitting him in the backseat of the car.

_The girl was probably taken…human trafficking…it's gotten pretty bad around here. It's easy to get lost in these woods. _

But Eren knew these woods intimately, had wandered about them since he'd learned to walk. He knew where those abandoned cabins were. He had seen one once that had been crawling with those thugs, had made it a point to keep himself and Armin away from there.

_Finding them…getting her back doesn't seem very likely. _

And he'd grabbed Hannes wrist, his fathers, every officer that had gotten near, told them where he thought they kept her but they had all their men searching the _vicinity,_ they'd get to that cabin _later_, in the _morning—_but it would be too late, much, much too late.

_We should prepare for the worst._

Eren slid out the backseat, his knife and tape deep in his coat pockets, quickly and silently slipping away.

_It looks like we were too late._

He only hoped he wouldn't be too late to save her.

* * *

"How long are we going to stay out here?" The older thug murmured, long-limbed and rail thin, his head hidden under a dark green baseball cap.

The younger thug shrugged his hefty shoulders, seating himself on the brown decaying couch, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder carelessly. "Claude said he'd come by in the morning. We just need to wait out the night because the cops are crawling all over the streets. We didn't expect them to find out so quickly."

The thin man pulled his cap over his eyes, the nervous gesture seeming to soothe him. "Yeah. We just need to wait it out for tonight—but what if they find us?"

His friend sighed. "Paul is patrolling around. He'll be back in a few minutes. We'll take turns."

An uncomfortable silence settled about them, and Mikasa watched them dazedly, bound and sprawled across the cabin floor. Blinking was something she had to remind herself to do, and breathing was tiring, exhausting, her energy leeching with each rasp.

"You wanna know something?" The thicker thug smiled darkly, breaking the silence, gesturing for his friend to get closer, lowering his voice. "I heard that she was a runaway. She was some kind of special order for the devil himself."

The other man looked startled, giving Mikasa a look laced with doubt. "But she's just a kid."

The thug scowled. "Not her. The mother. He wanted the mother but she escaped and when Claude spotted her again he knew getting her back would be good money."

"Oh." He folded his lanky frame within on himself, sitting on a chair by the window, still touching the tip of his cap. "But we killed her."

"Maybe he'll be happy with her, though."

The men continued their bickering, muttering about how much she'd be worth, if someone would want her, how much they should ask for.

"Um, ah…excuse me."

The wooden door groaned as it was pushed open a crack, and she saw the men stiffen, their bodies coil, the voice small and meek and shaky.

The taller of the two leapt forward, ripping the door back, sending it crashing against the wall. "Not so fast, kid!" The boy crumpled a little, alarmed at the man's rage, at the way he hunched over him like an animal ready to rip out his throat. "How did you find out about this place?"

"I…was playing in the woods and I got lost. But I know my street name." The boy held his arm behind his small rigid back, his other clenched against his side. "And I spotted this house." There were tears gathering at the corners of the boy's eyes, and Mikasa dully wondered why he was crying.

That was a normal reaction, she knew. _She_ should be crying. But corpses had no tears.

The man slowly shifted from his position, his expression softening, lowering onto his haunches. His large hand cupped the top of the boy's brown mussed hair, shaking it affectionately. "A little boy like you shouldn't be playing around in the woods. There are wolves and other animals about. But don't worry." He kept petting him. "Me and my friend will take you back. Let me get my car keys and—"

There was a soft damp gushing sound, a quiet, wet gurgle, the man's words cut off abruptly.

"Thank you, sir." The shakiness was gone from his voice, replaced with a rage that was much too dark for a child. "But I've caught on already." She saw the boy raise his other hand, shoving the man's hand away from his head, his other hand ripping a knife _out_ of the thug's throat, blood splattering everywhere. "Now die, fucker."

The boy clasped his small hand behind the man's skull, slamming him to the ground, lifeless, his throat gutted—and the boy pulled back, shutting the door and disappearing behind it.

_This can't be real, _her mind repeated, the smallest of trembles beginning deep in the pit of her belly, the ache that had dissipated swelling fiercely. _Please, no more._

The other thug rose, thwacking the couch back, wide-eyed and shaking as he grasped his shotgun more firmly, the same gun that had delivered the shot that had torn into her mother's body, her blood peppered and rusted on its side, on his jeans and coat.

"Hey…stay where you are, damn you!" The thug stumbled forward, lifting the shotgun as he tore the door open. "To hell with you…"

And then the boy was charging, running towards him with a knife taped to a wooden stick, lashing it up at the thug violently, splicing his neck and throat, burying it deep into his shoulder.

The man fell onto his back in shock, the shotgun bouncing over the floorboards, and before he could right himself the small boy gripped small knife, leaping onto him vengefully, his large eyes blank, violent. He landed on him, cutting into the man's skin, stabbing over and over, the sounds horrible, wet, drowned out by his fierce cries and curses. _"You fucking animal!" _He kept stabbing, his neck, his chest, his shoulders. _"Don't you ever fucking wake up again. You had it coming. This is what you deserve." _

Mikasa felt her body come alive again, her eyes unblinking, the breath ripped out of her lungs as she watched him finish him off with a last brutal stab, shakily wiping the blood off his cheek with his sleeve. He faced her, weakly getting to his feet, walking towards her, blood dripping from his small knife—a kitchen knife. The kind her mother had tried to use. There were still tears shimmering in his pretty eyes but he spoke calmly. "It's over now." He came closer still. "You're gonna be okay."

He reached her, his body heat touching her skin, his hands warm and slippery as he cut away the tape. Her skin prickled painfully, the blood flowing again. "You're Mikasa, right? I'm Eren. Doctor Yeager's son. I think you've already met my dad. I saw you at the park earlier…"

Her arms slid forward limply, recalling how eagerly her father had opened the door, calling out Dr. Yeager's name, the three men who'd stormed in…

Three.

"There should be three of them." Her throat ached. There had been a fourth, Claude, but he'd driven away, said he wouldn't return until the morning. The third had been patrolling and he was probably nearby…

"Huh?"

There was a sound and they both turned, finding the third man at the doorway, his eyes latching onto the dead bodies of his friends.

Eren lurched for the blade between them desperately—but the man lunged forward, kicking Eren's small body viciously, the sound of his cry strangled as he flew across the room.

"Did you do this?" The man sounded heartbroken, the crackle in his voice too human for what he'd done. "They were my friends, damn you!" He was strangling the small boy, his large hands squeezing his small throat, and she could see him struggling, see his small body squirming and no this couldn't be real—how many murders could she witness in one day before her mind finally fractured into madness?

"F-fight!" He was speaking, Mikasa realized, dogged enough to manage to get his voice out from between the man's fingers. His small hands clutched at the man's wrists, scratching, drawing blood. "You win, you live. If we can't…you're dead."

The man shook him harder, his grip tightening. "You little shit."

The boy locked his gaze onto hers. _"You can't win without fighting!"_

She couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened to her. But did it matter? It was cold, and cruel, and she was hollow and dead but this small boy wasn't, his eyes bright as flames, full of life, of fury, of passion, and he'd come to _save _her.

She gripped the small knife, gritting her teeth, seeing the struggle, trembling so hard it felt her very bones would splinter out of her skin.

But this was normal, she rationalized. Death happened every day, every moment, it leered closer with every second that passed.

That was the world they lived in; clawed hollow by cruelty, brimming with beauty. It didn't matter. That was what they were trapped in.

_Fight. _

And she'd been dead and cold. But this small boy wasn't. He was life and fire.

And she didn't want him to be put out.

Her trembling stilled, her pulse slowing, evening, her vision suddenly very clear. She slid out her foot, the callused skin of her feet scraping across the wood, the board cracking beneath her heel as she moved forward, steady and hard as steel.

* * *

Eren made sure to keep beside her as his dad finished talking to the police, an unopened juice box in his hand. He'd never really liked fruit punch anyway.

He eyed Mikasa from the corner of his eye, tugging his scarf away from his mouth so he could breathe better. She had sat very, very still the entire time, even when she'd walked, or spoke—it was a little frightening, really. They'd sat them in hard plastic chairs as they'd taken his father into the interrogation room, and he struggled to find a way to reach her.

Because she looked too still. It made him feel as if maybe he hadn't really made it in time to save her.

A policeman walked over to them, his face kind, his eyes compassionate and filled with pity. "Hey, Mikasa? Do you remember me? I'm officer Hannes." He reached out and tried to grasp her hand—but she flinched, wrapping her small arms around her body.

"She doesn't want to be touched." Eren glared at Hannes, though he knew he wasn't supposed to, had been chided by his mother enough times to have his ears fall off. "Leave her alone."

Hannes looked a little begrudging, but conceded. "Ah, yes, sorry…" He cleared his throat. "Mikasa, are you sure you don't have any family to take you in?"

Her icy expression thawed, cracked, a brief and sharp flash of agony flickering through her gaze, making her shudder. She breathed in, slowly, freezing everything out again and if Eren hadn't been watching her so closely he would have missed it entirely. "No…I'm alone…I have no other home."

The officer's frown deepened. "Perhaps a grandmother? An aunt or uncle? Any name you can think of?"

Mikasa curled in on herself—and Eren had seen enough. He hopped off his chair, placing his small hands on Hannes shoulder and pushing. "I said leave her alone!"

"Hey, kid—quit it." Hannes lifted Eren, sitting him back down none too gently. "Jesus," He breathed, "what is she your girlfriend or something?"

Eren felt himself flush, the accusation ridiculous. "Leave her alone."

Hannes pressed his lips together and was about to retort when another officer stepped into the room. "Hannes?" He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "They need you."

He pressed his fingertips to the backs of his eyelids, sighing wearily, the sound bone deep and thin. "Alright." He straightened, frowning down at the both of them in disapproval. "Stay put. Your dad is almost out."

Eren continued to glower until Hannes left them alone. And Mikasa was still much too motionless.

"Mikasa…?"

She blinked slowly, and it took her far too long to fix her dull dark eyes on his.

He frowned. He supposed he shouldn't have expected an actual verbal response. "Are you okay?"

There. Surprise. It was slight and very weak, but she had had a bit of a reaction and almost as soon as it appeared on her small face it vanished. "Yes." Her voice was very frail.

He took a breath, gripping his juice box a little too tightly. Whenever he was upset or crying or, as his mother said, 'throwing one of his _fits' _she always sat him down and forced him to drink a whole glass of water. "Here," He fumbled with the straw, punching it through the small hole, wrinkled his nose when he spilled a little over his thumb and wrist. He held out the juice for her. "Drink it."

She didn't look at him.

He set his small jaw in determination. "I said drink it." He pushed it more insistently, forcing her to lean away. "You didn't drink the water the officers gave you." He kept following her mouth with his juice box. "And you didn't eat your crackers." She shook her head at him. "You need to eat or drink something or you're going to get sick." When she continued to fight him he grabbed at her collar. "You're alive, aren't you?" He nearly shouted, stunning her enough to make her flinch, and he pressed the straw between her lips. "So drink."

She shut her eyes, her small body trembling, her nod shaky as she drank obediently. He helped her drink the whole thing until he heard someone call his name.

"Eren?"

They both froze. His dad was standing beside them, his hair slipping lose from its tail, over his shoulder. "Eren, leave Mikasa alone."

Eren huffed a little, putting the box on the chair beside him grudgingly, wiping his juice slicked fingers on his shirt. "I was trying to help."

"Hmm," His father murmured sympathetically, helping Eren off the chair. "I'm sure Mikasa appreciates it. Come on. We need to get home before your mother gets worried." He looked at Mikasa now. "The police are going to take care of you, Mikasa. You'll be alright now."

Mikasa said nothing.

Eren frowned as his dad pulled him forward, was about to speak up when Mikasa's small voice warbled out of her throat. "Dr. Yeager…?" They all watched her silently, patiently. "Where…where will I go?" She looked so still, her eyes burned so fiercely, so brokenly. "I'm cold…I don't have any more family." Eren felt his heart stutter sorely. He'd saved her, hadn't he? Why did she look so dead then? So distant and lifeless. "I don't have a home anymore." Mikasa shut her eyes.

Eren tugged off his scarf. When he was upset his mother made him drink water. When he was cold his mother always bundled him up. But she didn't have a mom anymore, did she?

"Here." He struggled to wrap the scarf about her neck and face, covering her mouth and nose, flopping the last part about her head. There. That should keep the chill off. "It's warm, isn't it?" Only her large eyes were visible above the scarf, glimmering curiously as she watched him. "Come on." He grabbed her sleeve and tugged her forward, pulled her off the chair and onto her feet. "Let's go home. Our home."

He heard her shaky inhale, felt the way she quivered against his small knuckles. He pulled her out with him down the hall, ignored the looks from his father, from officer Hannes and the rest. He'd barely made it in time to save her—but her mom and dad were dead and gone. He couldn't bring them back but perhaps he could share his own parents with her. Perhaps he could ease the ache she felt, if only a little.

"Yes." He heard her wobbly whisper, heard the tears that weren't quite shed. "Our home."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Grisha?" Hannes asked with a furrowed brow. "Taking in another child…?"

Grisha kept signing forms, his signature an elegant, sharp scrawl. "Eren didn't give me much of a choice."

Hannes huffed. "He's a kid, Grisha. Now, this is a small neighborhood but there are plenty of family's that would love to take in a young girl like Mikasa—"

Grisha shook his head, his expression a little tired, a little rueful. "When Eren was six years old he found a wounded stray cat. It was missing an eye and the tail looked like it had been burnt off. Eren came home covered in scratches, his clothes bloodied, because he said the cat didn't want to let himself be held but he knew it _needed_ help." His lips curled up into a smile. "Carla refused to take it in, of course, the thing was rabid. When we tried to take it away from Eren he kicked and screamed and razed until we released him. We kept it—it was either that or rip the animal out of his arms forcefully. The cat sleeps in his room every night. His name is Hook." Grisha pushed the page away, filling out another calmly, steadily. "When Eren was eight—last year actually— he and Armin were playing in the woods. They were climbing trees when Armin fell and broke his leg." He flipped another page. "They were about a mile away from the house, and it was downhill, rainy season. Climbing back up for an adult is difficult, a _mountain_ for a small child—but Eren lifted Armin on his back and _bodily _carried him all the way to the fire department." Another page. "I was working at the hospital at that time and the paramedics had to call me out of a _surgery _because Eren refused to leave Armin alone." He laughed a little too himself, adjusting his glasses. "I wasn't much help either. Eren stayed by him the whole time, holding his other hand, glaring at anyone that might hurt him."

He sighed wearily, affectionately, signing the last page. "I know my son." He lifted his brief case. "He's taken Mikasa in. Once Eren forms a bond with you—even if you're unwilling—his tenacity and protection knows no boundaries."

Hannes grunted, watching him slip his jacket back on. "You need to teach that boy some discipline, Grisha."

Grisha lifted his briefcase, walking away. "I rather thought we could all learn something from him, instead."

* * *

Levi had seen countless dead bodies. He'd had to touch them, bury them, cut them apart—he'd cut the very life from them more than he cared to recall. He'd murdered, almost gotten killed, experienced and caused horrors he knew were unforgivable, could drown in the blood he'd spilled—and still, this death, _her _death, brought him to his knees.

His heart was pounding harshly, his lungs ached for breath as he held himself up off the sidewalk, the ache tearing at him until he felt he'd fracture.

_Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck it. I fucked it up again. _

He groaned, pressing his stone cut palms over the backs of his lids, rocking back and forth on his knees. He could feel the slickness of blood thickening between his fingers, caked beneath his fingernails, the blood of Claude's crushed face, his screams of agony doing nothing to assuage Levi's rage.

_You fucking killed her. How could you fucking kill her? I told you to leave it alone. You killed her. _

He swallowed, a sharp pain tearing at his throat, at his lungs, his heart, his rib cage splintering beneath his skin.

_Please, _he begged pathetically, _not her. _

Another growl clawed up his throat, and he felt his body contort, retching violently there beneath the streetlamp, tasting the bitterness of bile, the venom of his insides, the ash of every cigarette he'd breathed, the burn of every drink, the scorch of every drug he'd inhaled, swallowed, injected—all of it poured out of him into a brown yellow puddle, spread out slowly, tinged with blood.

He retched until he was empty, and then he gagged and dry heaved until he was sure his very heart would slip from his lips.

It was minutes, or perhaps hours, but his body quieted in its spasms, and he hefted himself onto his back, inches away from vomit, his eyes staring up at the sky unseeingly.

He hadn't been able to see her—her body. The last time he'd seen her, alive, had been months ago, and he'd watched her from a distance, let the burn of smoke sift in his lungs as he lingered in the shadows. She was carrying her small daughter, her husband's arm wrapped around her thin waist intimately, holding her to him proudly as they'd watched the small thanksgiving parade.

But of course the fucker had held her proudly.

She was beauty in human form. Kindness and passion and charity. Her compassion knew no bounds—she'd even extended it to a feral dog like him back then, when starvation and illness had nearly stopped his heart.

And he'd promised he'd protect her, with every spoonful she had fed him, with every cup of water she'd lifted to his lips, with every healing touch she'd given him. He'd promised to save her from the hellhole they'd lived in, refused to let her die, even when their deaths had seemed inevitable. And what had he gone and done? He'd brought her overseas, helped her escape, let her find another, a _good _man, marry him, have a daughter…to have her only die as viciously as she would have back home.

How terrified she must have been.

They'd killed the husband first, had tried to take her but she'd fought, and of course she'd fought, she would do everything to protect her daughter, and he'd promised her she was out of danger, had never thought Claude would find her, or even remember her.

But he had, and he should have protected her. And he could beat Claude until he was just a shit stain on the floor but it wouldn't bring her back.

_Where's the girl?_

_I…I don't know. When we got to the cabin the cops were there we couldn't get any closer. But they were dead. I don't know who killed them but the cops took the girl, I think. _

He'd snuck past the sleeping cops sitting in their cars outside the house, crept onto the roof, through a window—not her house, _a crime scene_—and he'd found everything in place. Sheets tucked in neatly, laundry folded, cups flipped upside down on a kitchen towel to dry, an apron, _her _apron…and he'd found photos everywhere. Smiles mocking him from behind their glass, and he'd pathetically, shakily taken a few, crisply folding them into his pockets, had been about to leave when he'd found the picture of her daughter.

A daughter he had held only once, only weeks after she'd been born.

_Mikasa, _she'd handed him her infant daughter so easily, so trustingly, hadn't cared that he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, that he was going through withdrawals, had only touched his arm as he'd looked down at the baby she'd had with another man. _I named her Mikasa. Do you like it? _

He hadn't been able to respond for several moments, felt a storm of emotions brewing within him—jealousy, elation, relief that she'd survived the labor—but he'd only shook his head.

_No. It's a shitty name. _

She'd laughed, as she always did, making him think that he'd said something clever and kind instead of depressing and snarky.

_Do you think Mikasa looks like me, Levi? _

Levi inhaled, opening his eyes, pulling himself out of the memory, tugging the young girl's picture out of his pocket, tracing it with a filthy fingertip.

_Yes, _he'd admitted roughly, _she looks just like you._

* * *

**A/N~If the plot didn't make sense, I'm sorry. If the plot is painfully obvious then I am also very sorry. But it's going to get much, much more complicated and while I may follow some of the canon plot points I'll probably deviate quite a bit. And, also, I plan on this thing being very, very long. Maybe 20 chapters, maybe even more. It'll get very angsty, it'll be very violent and I'll try to curb my darker tendencies as much as I can but there are going to be beatings, brutal fights, abductions, drugs, talk of human trafficking and...stuff. I'm dragging Eren and Mikasa through the flames of hell and back. **

**I live in a bad neighborhood so I figured I might as well use it as inspiration. **

**I hope you didn't hate it. **


	2. Chances

_~Months Later~_

Mikasa usually only spoke when necessary. She usually spoke when someone prompted her to or when Eren was about to do something rash. When she was with Eren and Armin they were usually the ones babbling away while she quietly absorbed their words.

And so, one afternoon as they'd swung on the swings at the park, her out of the blue statement had both he and Armin blinking at her in bafflement.

"I don't remember his name." She was still on her swing, her small black shoes digging into the sand beneath them. "An uncle, I think."

"An uncle?" Armin asked gently, on the swing between them, a book clutched to his lap.

Her expression was one of deep concentration, and if Eren hadn't felt so panicked he would have thought it was funny.

"I don't remember his name but I…I think I do have an uncle." She explained hesitantly.

Eren felt his chest tighten. "You have family?"

"Hm," She nodded and suddenly there was a brightness in her eyes, a brightness he rarely saw. "Mama told me he'd always protect me. But he always looked really mean. I didn't like him."

Eren watched her. _Good. _

"Why did you just remember him now?" Armin's question bothered Eren immensely.

Mikasa pulled up her scarf—his scarf—and mumbled into it. "I smelled smoke. Someone was smoking and then I…remembered that he smelled like that, too, whenever I got close to him. Like smoke and mint."

Armin's brow furrowed. "Do you think he's looking for you?" Armin tucked his corn colored hair behind his ear. "You should tell—"

Eren hopped off his swing with a huff. "She doesn't have to." He looked at them both sternly. "She said she didn't like him, right?"

Mikasa nodded.

"Then there." He grabbed Armin's sleeve, then Mikasa's, tugging them off their swings a little roughly. "Let's go."

"But Eren," Armin sounded a little breathless, struggling to hold onto his large book and trudge through the sand. "If he was supposed to protect her that means he's supposed to—"

"She doesn't need him to protect her." Eren tucked his chin into his jacket, giving Mikasa a sideways glance. "You've got me, right?" He ignored the heat blooming across his cheeks, pretended it was the bite of the icy rain beginning to pepper about them, darkening the tops of the buildings, the cracked streets.

Her eyes widened—then softened, her mouth and nose hidden behind her scarf. "Yes." Her small hand gripped his more tightly. "I have you."

He'd promised to protect her.

He'd never know how impossible keeping that promise would be.

* * *

It had taken a while for Mikasa to become truly comfortable with Eren's family. They treated her just like she was their daughter and she had _just begun_ to feel secure when her entire world was flipped upside down.

She'd been sent to the store just around the corner to buy milk, Armin accompanying her on her way back home, when she'd accidentally slammed into a very tall man. He shoved her away hard enough to make her hit the wall, the gallon striking the sidewalk and exploding.

"Mikasa!" Armin grabbed her arm, steadying her.

She stared at the spilled milk numbly, seeing it splattered across her shoes, saw it mix with the rainwater as it dribbled down—

"What the fuck, kid?"

She looked up and felt her lungs constrict.

He pushed a breath of smoke out of his lips, glaring at her, tucking a small package into his pocket quickly, suspiciously. He had light blue eyes—the same eyes she'd seen the night her parents had been murdered. He'd been the driver of the van and she'd only seen him briefly but his face had been etched into the backs of her lids nonetheless.

_Blue eyes as pale as ice._

All he had done was drive them all to the cabin.

And then he'd left.

And it had always been in the back of her mind, something she pushed away with all of the fierceness and fear she felt but she remembered now, the words that sometimes plagued her at night.

_There was still one that was alive. _

He cocked his head, and he looked much older, the bones in his face slightly disfigured, his right eye a little cloudy, but she remembered him all too well. "You look familiar."

_No, no, no. _

"Do I know you? Dad or mom buy some pills from me or something?" He hunched, peering at her face, blowing smoke into her eyes, making them sting.

She shut them, shaking her head, backing away, Armin pressed against her back.

"You can't talk? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Another puff of smoke struck her and she stepped away with shaky legs. "Get the fuck outta here, stupid kids."

She stumbled, almost crashed into a telephone pole as she bolted away, yanking Armin along with her, tripping and refusing to fall until she got away, could almost feel him running behind them, could feel his breath brush the back of her neck—

She slammed into someone, a small strangled cry ripping from her throat as they fell onto her, knocking her to the ground. She kicked and punched as hard as she could, her voice gone, panic blinding her until she heard him speak.

"Mikasa—Mikasa, ouch! Stop!"

She released the grip she had on his hair and finally _looked _at him.

"Mikasa stop hitting Eren!" Armin yelled.

_Eren?_

"What happened?" Eren struggled onto his knees, rubbing his red cheek. "Why were you running—and why did you start hitting me?"

He stood then held out his hand to help her up. She still felt a little shaky, still felt like a string had wrapped tight about her throat and when she took his hand and let him pull her up she slammed herself into him, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

"Mikasa?" He was still, not quite holding her, not quite pushing her away. "Mikasa—why do you smell like smoke?" He grabbed her small shoulders and pushed her away, tried to look at her face. "Did something happen?"

She only shuddered and shook her head, trying to breathe. _He found me, he found me, I walked right into him. It was just pure chance that he didn't recognize me, chance, luck, the way that I was saved by you._

Eren looked to Armin.

Armin shook his head. "Just…a scary thug."

But they both knew that wasn't it at all. Mikasa was as tough as nails, had gotten into fights with boys and girls twice her size, thugs were a regular sight about their neighborhood…and their gazes reflected their questions but they spoke none.

"Come on," Eren sighed, pulling her forward. He understood as he rarely did, that while she was tougher then he cared to admit there were moments where even she needed to be comforted, even if she wouldn't explain why.

She clung to his hand tightly as he took them back home.

* * *

"What is it Mikasa?"

She was trembling fitfully at his bedroom doorway, her pale white gown twisted, her hair bunched haphazardly about the scarf wrapped over her neck and face. "I…had a bad dream."

This wasn't an uncommon thing, Eren thought, and he wasn't surprised since she'd been a little more than shaky since they'd gotten home. He threw the blanket back. "Come on. Hurry its cold."

She nodded, shakily climbing onto his bed, curling into herself. He rolled his eyes, shifted to face the window, presenting his back to her. "You can hug me."

Her cold fingers crept around his small ribs, and she burrowed against him, pushing her toes beneath his legs. He pulled the blanket up and shut his eyes, tried to pretend he didn't feel the heat of her tears soaking through his shirt.

"You want to tell me your dream?" He asked sleepily.

She shook her head, sniffling, rubbing her nose against his shoulder. "Is…dad not here yet?"

Eren yawned, stretching. "No…he's been staying at work pretty late, huh?"

She nodded. "I…don't feel good."

He frowned, shifting, rolling over to face her. He peered at her face, tugging her scarf down. "What do you mean? Like a tummy ache?"

"No." She was still crying, silvery drops dripping off her lashes, her nose. "I mean—"

There was the sound of a scream—his mother's scream—and then he heard a gunshot tear through air, too loud, too close, their bodies vibrating.

Mikasa gasped, gripping his shirt in her fists, shoving him off the bed.

"T-that's a gun. Mikasa, that…" Eren gasped.

They both scrambled to their feet, pressing their backs against the wall as footsteps thundered down the hall towards his bedroom door.

"Move." Mikasa locked the door, ran towards the window. "Eren!" She pushed it open. "Run!"

"But my mom—"

"The other window!" She yanked on his shirt, shoving him out onto the roof, quickly snapping the window shut behind them.

They heard another gun shot and they crawled away from the window as quickly as they could, slowly making their way to the attic. They crawled in, the rain making their limbs slippery, their movements clumsy.

Eren collapsed onto his back, trying to catch his breath, his wet hair clinging to his cheeks and temples. He watched Mikasa crawl away, shoving a heavy box over the small attic door.

"Mikasa—don't! We need to find my mom."

She shook her head fiercely, her back pressed against the cardboard, soaking it. "Eren…" He'd seen her terrified before, had seen her in the midst of her nightmares, had seen her earlier when she'd slammed into him—but compared to the sheer numb horror on her features they were all nothing, _nothing _to the fright gripping her at that moment. "…they found me."

* * *

Armin curled up on his couch, his brow furrowed, the phone pressed to his ear tightly. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was awake, to make sure no one would see what he was doing.

The phone finally picked up.

His voice was gruff, thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Hannes?" Armin croaked, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry for bothering you at..." He glanced at the clock and flinched. "At this time but—"

"Armin?" He heard Hannes grunt and heave himself up. "What's wrong?"

"I know you only told me to call you when it was an emergency but—" _But I just have this horrible feeling and I don't like the way that thug looked at Mikasa because almost nothing scares her but he did and he mentioned something about her looking familiar and I can't help but think this may tie in with the death of her mom and dad and maybe this is ridiculous but if there is even the slightest chance that my gut is right _–"I was wondering if maybe you can go check on Eren and Mikasa?"

Silence.

"Why do you want me to check on them? They're probably asleep and their parents are—"

"Please." Armin begged now, shutting his eyes. "I just think something…is wrong." _And the last time I ignored my gut Mikasa's parents were killed and she was kidnapped. _

Hannes sighed. "Yeah. Alright. Go to bed."

Armin smiled shakily. "Thank you, Hannes. I will."

"Yeah."

He hung up quietly, curling onto his side, knew he'd be awake for hours.

* * *

Eren had never really thought of himself as an ignorant boy. But as he watched his mother slowly bleed to death in front of him and the men drag Mikasa away by her hair he only knew that he really didn't know half of the ugliness this world was capable of.

"You stupid little fucking bitch!" He watched the blonde man backhand Mikasa, hard enough to slam her onto the kitchen floor. He had claw marks on his face, saw blood on Mikasa's fingertips. "Just like your fucking mother—you scratch just like cats. Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?" He bent, grabbing her arm and yanking her up. "I'm not letting you escape this time." He grabbed her thumb. "I should break your damn fingers for this shit."

"Claude!" The man holding Eren rasped. "What the hell do I do with him?"

Claude snarled when Mikasa tried to kick him. "Tie him up. We have plenty of men who'd like a pretty little boy like him."

A gun fired, the sound sharp, the bullet tearing into the thug holding Eren, killing him instantly. The man dropped Eren, crumpling to the ground, and Claude let Mikasa slip through his hands, fumbling for his own gun.

"Shit," Claude threw himself on the ground, searching for where the shot had come from.

"Eren! The door!"

They turned to see Hannes outside the window, his gun drawn. Eren scrambled up, ran towards his mother's bleeding body. "Mom, get up." He tried to lift her, couldn't. "Mikasa, help me!"

She was shaking so hard it looked as if she'd fall apart but she grabbed his mother's arm nonetheless, tugging with him.

Another shot fired—this time from Claude's gun, and it grazed Eren's shoulder, sending him flying against the wall.

"Eren!" Hannes shouted again. "Jump out the window!"

Eren felt tears blind him, the pain hot and wet, tearing through his left shoulder. "We need to get mom out first."

Another shot and this one almost hit Mikasa, but she only threw herself down over Carla's bleeding body, gripping her fitfully.

"Please, get up." Mikasa whispered.

Carla reached up, touching Mikasa's hair gently. "Mikasa…" Blood dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. "Take Eren. Get him out of here."

Mikasa's face crumpled. "No."

"Mom, get up!" Eren crawled over to her, yanking on her wrist. "We need to go."

Another shot and this one broke through the glass window over their heads, sending glittering shards down over them, slicing at their skin.

"Leave, Eren!" His mother's voice gained strength, "Leave now!"

"No!" He tugged harder. "If you can't move I'll carry you. Like I did Armin. But I'm not leaving—"

Hannes suddenly reached through the window, grabbing the both of them and throwing them out into the bushes.

"_No!" _Eren screamed, struggling against Hannes hold. "My mom."

"Go to my car!" Hannes shoved them both away. "I'll get your mom out."

Eren shook his head, his shoulder still burning. "Not until—"

More gunshots flew through the window, and Hannes cursed, dragging them farther away. "How many of them are there?" He growled.

"F-five. Four since you…killed one." Mikasa looked on the verge of retching.

Hannes lifted them both up bodily, reaching the street, using his police car as a shield. "I only brought one gun." He shoved them into the backseat. "I only have three bullets left."

"_I don't care!" _Eren screamed, kicking and punching at Hannes. _"My mom is dying!" _

Hannes grabbed Eren's collar, throwing him farther into the backseat, slamming the door shut and locking them in. He was about to say something when they heard a shout.

"Hey, pig." They all looked towards the shattered window, saw Claude holding up Carla, a gun to her temple. "Let the girl go or I'll blow her fucking skull in."

_No._

"Hannes…." Carla called out, her face bone pale, her eyes hard. "Take the children."

"_Mom!" _

"Carla, I…" Hannes voice strangled.

"Go!" She screamed and suddenly she reached up, grabbing Claude's gun, struggling. "Go, Hannes!"

"Carla!" Hannes was breathing rapidly, shaking. But there was only one of him and four of them and by the time he called back up it would be too late and the children…

"Fuck. _Fuck." _He slid into the driver's seat, jerking the car engine to life.

"Hannes! My mom!" Eren banged against the window uselessly, hitting until the skin split over his knuckles, watching as Claude put the tip of the gun back to his mom's temple.

_No, no, no._

Hannes slammed the car forward just as Claude pulled the trigger.

* * *

This was her fault. They'd been after her, if she hadn't existed, if she had let them take her the first time, this wouldn't have happened. Eren would be happy with his family and with Armin and his other friends and she'd be dead or worse but they'd taken her in and now Carla was dead.

_How could you leave her? Why didn't you save her? You're a cop—it's what you were supposed to do. _

She sat numbly, Eren's screams distant, the moon leeching everything of color as Hannes parked in the parking lot of the police station, his head bent forward, his forehead touching the steering wheel.

"Forgive me, Eren." Hannes sounded sick to his bones. "I'm so sorry."

And this was all her fault but no one was blaming her.

And she wasn't crying, could only shake and breathe as best as she could.

_It happened again. _She touched the scarf about her neck. _Why did it have to happen again?_

* * *

"Where's Grisha?"

"He's still at the police station. He's…taking it very badly."

"What about Eren and Mikasa?"

"I'll take care of them. Their hospital bills, medicines…I'll pay for it all."

"Oh, Hannes." The nurse murmured sympathetically. "Don't blame yourself—"

"Don't." Hannes growled. "I had a chance to save her but I didn't and now she's..." A jagged breath. "Just…give me the bills. I'll take care of everything until Grisha can pull himself together."

And none of them knew it just then, but Grisha never quite managed to put himself back together again.

* * *

_~Years Later~_

This was stupid. He didn't even know why he was hiding with _Jean _of all people, in the janitor's closet.

"Get your ass off of me, Yeager." Jean hissed, shoving at him until his back hit a pile of brooms and mops.

"Fuck off, Jean. You were the one who shoved us in here in the first place." Eren straightened his jacket, glaring at Jean in a temper. "What the fuck are you trying to do? Make out with me?"

"Stop fantasizing." Jean ignored him, peered through the crack of the door and out into the hall between their classrooms. "It's Juro, again."

Eren scowled. _Juro? _"You mean that stupid football dude who got a full scholarship or something?"

"Yeah." Jean mumbled impatiently. "Now shut up. I can't hear them."

_Them? _"What the fuck are you talking about, Jean?" Eren tried to grab the door handle but Jean shoved at him again. "What are you afraid of him, or something? Let me the fuck out—"

"He's talking to Mikasa again." Jean snarled. "Haven't you noticed him? He's always hounding her and plus prom is coming up. I think he's going to ask her to go with him."

"Juro is asking Mikasa to…?" Eren felt himself go still, his lungs deflating. He'd seen the guy around a few times, had noticed the guy was unusually nice to him, making sure his gorillas didn't mess with him or Armin. Eren had always thought maybe he was just a nice guy but now that Jean had mentioned his interest in Mikasa…it made a sickening amount of sense.

He was trying to score points.

With Mikasa.

"Yeah, he is, the bastard." Jean muttered. "_Juro._" He scoffed. "What a stupid name. He has stupid hair, too."

Eren swallowed thickly. No, Juro didn't have stupid hair. In fact he wasn't a very stupid guy in general. He was reasonably intelligent, athletic, tall and muscular and he always smiled at everyone which was more than what Eren ever did. He was the most coveted damn boy in the school. "Yeah, whatever, I don't care." He bent down, pretending to tie the torn shoe laces on his converse as he inconspicuously pressed his ear against the door.

"_I was just wondering if you were…if you had a date?"_

"_A date?"_

Mikasa sounded as oblivious as always and he couldn't help but feel inexplicably pleased and frustrated. He'd always sort of liked that Mikasa never seemed to notice the boys who fawned over her—Jean was really the most persistent which was why they were fighting before Jean had shoved them into the closet—but he'd always dreaded the day when Mikasa _wouldn't _be oblivious anymore, the day a boy finally caught her attention. And the slightest of chances that it could be this day had Eren frozen stiff.

And he wasn't quite sure why this made him feel so shitty, but it did.

Because Juro was the type of guy every guy wanted to be like. Strong, charming, good looking and ripped, who was also annoyingly nice and popular.

"_For prom." _

"_Oh." _

Eren held his breath, wrapping his laces around his fingers tightly enough to cut off his flow of blood, shutting his eyes.

"_I don't. But no thank you. I don't have…money for a dress. I'm working that day, anyway."_

Eren let out his breath, felt the blood pound in his skull harshly. _She doesn't have money for a dress? _She'd bought a tux for him just last week, even shoes, and he'd been embarrassed but he'd assumed she'd bought herself a dress too, hadn't thought about how much his suit might have cost, that she'd probably been unable to buy them both something to wear. But of course she'd choose him over herself, wouldn't even think twice.

"_I can give you money for a dress, Mikasa." _Juro offered generously, his voice kind. _"I know that it must be hard for you, going to school and working a job to support you and your brother. I know your dad isn't around much—"_

"_That's family business." _Mikasa cut off sharply. "_Thank you, Juro. I need to get going now. I'm sorry."_

He heard her walking away and before he could even pull air into his aching lungs Jean had him pushed up against the wall, his face enraged.

"You're a fucking asshole, Eren." Jean shook him. "How long are you going to mooch off of Mikasa? You don't think it's enough that she shows up to school with dark circles under her eyes, her hands red and scrubbed raw, that she defends you from any stupid little fight you get your dumb ass into—but now you're taking prom away from her, too?"

Eren felt the truth of his words hit him square in the chest, his eyes stinging as he struggled against him. "I didn't know she hadn't bought herself a dress!" He head-butted Jean hard enough to snap his head back, landing on his heels as Jean dropped him. "It's none of your fucking business, anyway."

Jean held his nose, tried to breathe through his mouth. "Of course not. You never fucking notice all she does for you. You just take it like the spoiled little fucking brat you are. You just let her shoulder the responsibility of everything just like your useless father—"

Eren cracked his fist across Jean's jaw, sending him flying into the shelves of cleaning products, bottles and paper towels scattering. "Don't you mention my fucking dad."

He moved to the door but Jean lashed out, grabbing his ankles and yanking. Eren fell onto his stomach, and then Jean was on him, and they were punching and kicking and beating the shit out of each other.

Eren straddled Jean, trying to get him to release his grip on his hair—

When the door flew open.

Connie and Sasha stood there, a foam cup in each of their hands.

"You guys need a rabies shot, or something." Connie sipped his lime green slushy. "Or maybe some lube and condoms."

Sasha nodded, sipping on her blue slushy, pulling out her cell phone, snapping a picture of them quickly. "Blackmail." She popped the straw out of her mouth with a sly grin. "Your lover's tryst has been recorded. I demand half your lunches for the rest of the year."

Jean threw Eren off of him, scrambling towards her. "Sasha don't you fucking dare—!"

Sasha screeched, pulling Connie with her as she ran down the hall, her silky brown pony tail bobbing madly. "Bye!" They spun through the front entrance, the doors slamming against the wall.

"Fucking shit." Jean cursed, breathlessly hunching forward, his hands on his knees.

Eren sat up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. "This is your fucking fault." He stood, his knees a little weak. "For sticking your long ass face in our business."

Jean grimaced at him. "You don't fucking deserve her, Yeager." Jean looked away, and it made Eren's stomach hurt, but the look in them told Eren that whatever Jean felt for her was much, much deeper than a stupid crush. "And if it's for her sake I'll keep sticking my nose in your business no matter how much your pansy ass tries to push me out of it."

Eren huffed, shoving Jean out of his way as he walked down the hall. "Fuck off, Jean."

"You better make sure she goes to prom, jack ass." Jean called out. "Even if you have to go to prom with your own sister."

Eren slammed the front doors open violently, pulling his hood over his head as he walked after Mikasa

* * *

"The garbage, Ackerman."

Her boss called out, and Mikasa nodded grimly, worn down to the bone. She shut off the sink, drying her stinging hands on her red apron before heading out to collect the garbage bags and hefting them over her shoulder. She stepped out the back door, making her way down the alleyway in search of the dumpster.

She'd just about reached it when she spotted a short thug leaning against the wall casually, a hood thrown over his dark hair, his blue eyes narrow and murky as he looked at her. He finished lighting a cigarette, pulling in a drag, tossing the match onto the damp pavement.

"Hey," He called.

She kept walking, lifting the rubber lids, dumping the bags into the bin. She'd seen him around her workplace for a few weeks now, lingering, his eyes following her discreetly.

"Bye."

He gave a very deep, dark chuckle. "I fucking remember when you were small enough to be carried with one arm." He breathed out a thick gray cloud, the scent acidic, minty. Familiar. "What the fuck did they feed you to get you to grow so much?"

Mikasa turned around a little too sharply, her brow furrowed. She eyed the tattoos peeking from the collar of his shirt, from the ends of his sleeves, the scars clawed white over his large knuckles, that small twitch in his face that seemed universal in all drug users. He was probably having a bad trip, because he'd never gotten close enough for her to see all these details, never spoken to her until now. Most of the rift raft around here knew not to screw with her but he was new, and so perhaps it was his turn to learn.

"Leave or I'll call the cops."

She heard him exhale again, a slight whistle rasping along with the smoke. "Cops?" He smiled at her mockingly. "They're fucking useless. They couldn't protect your mother." His words made her heart pound viciously, and she felt confusion cloud her judgment as she stepped forward. "They barely protected you, didn't they?" He shrugged, crossing a scuffed boot across his ankle casually. "Doesn't matter." He flicked his cigarette, sending bright orange ambers fluttering to the ground. His hooded blue eyes gave her a very, very hard look, a chill of warning tickling the back of her neck and hands. "I'm not taking any chances this time…Mikasa." He huffed a little, smoke clouding his expression. "It's still a shitty name. Never figured out why your mother named you that shit."

_Mikasa._

"You…knew my mother?" It could explain why she felt so breathless, why he looked so familiar, a memory teasing the edges of her thoughts, her pulse pounding in her palms. Not an unpleasant memory, just an uncomfortable one.

"You could say that." He threw the cigarette to the ground. "Listen, brat...you're not safe here." He crushed it with his boot. "I need to get you the fuck out of here." He gestured to the chain link face behind the dumpster. "And I need you to not throw a fucking tantrum about it."

She stepped away, shaking off her stupidity. She was listening to a drugged up guy on a bad trip mumble nonsense, in a dark alleyway, alone. "Leave. I'm calling the cops." She brushed by him—felt his hand grab her wrist, spinning her backwards, swiftly pinning her against the wall.

She snarled, slamming her heel up towards his nose but he blocked it easily, twisting her body so that she landed hard on her knees, her wrists pinned against the wall as he hunched over her.

"There we go," He murmured, a dark amusement curling into his voice, his face inches from hers. "Just the height I remember you at."

She slid her knees outwards, taking his legs out from under him, slamming him onto his back.

"Fucking shit." She heard him mumble and before he could stand she was on him, her small dagger at his throat. He went still. "Good girl," He murmured. "You're tougher than you look."

"I could kill you." She murmured quietly. "It would be self-defense. The cops wouldn't bat an eye at it."

He arched a thin brow. "I bet. Just like you killed those thugs when they took you, right?" He watched the shift in her expression with immense satisfaction. "How many murders can a girl get away with before they throw her in an asylum, I wonder?"

She pressed the dagger in deeper, breaking his skin. "How do you know so much about me?"

The amusement left him, like water down a drain, leaving only a hollow, anguished look in his eyes. "I promised your mother I would protect her." His eyes traced her features. "She fucking made me promise to protect you when you were born. Like if she fucking knew this shit would happen." He shifted beneath her but went still when she pushed the blade deeper. "Claude is sniffing out your scent, Mikasa."

_Claude?_

His eyes narrowed, oblivious to the numb horror that pushed the air from her lungs. "I'm not taking any chances." He repeated.

She couldn't quite catch her breath. "How did…how did he find me?"

"Mikasa?"

She looked up at the sound of Eren's voice, found him at the mouth of the alley, staring at the both of them sprawled on the ground incredulously.

"Eren?"

"Mikasa…" He stepped closer, still a far ways away. "What are you doing?"

She blinked rapidly—felt the thug push her up, lift her to her feet just as he got to his, his arms wrapped around her loosely.

"Put the blade away." He whispered into her ear, pretending to adjust the tie at the back of her apron. "You don't want to get him involved in this. Not unless you want it to get ugly."

Her body felt stiff, her hands damp as she discreetly slid the knife into her back pocket. "Leave." She bit out quietly, her nails biting into his wrists as she pushed his hands away from her body.

He smirked. "I'll be back, Mikasa." He walked over to the fence. "I'll give you a few days to get ready."

He scaled up the fence lightly, easily leaping over, landing on his boots gracefully. He gave her one last dark look over his shoulder. "I'm Levi, by the way." He straddled a large black motorcycle parked on the sidewalk. "I'm also your god father." He revved it up. "Lucky you." He left, leaving her shaky confused.

* * *

With the life Eren had lived, not much could really surprise him. Yet when he'd found Mikasa straddling another man in a dark alley he'd almost felt like throwing up.

He'd also felt like an idiot.

He'd watched them for a few seconds silently, his disbelief paralyzing him, thoughts and questions racing through him.

_What the hell was going on? Why was she on top him? And was she touching his neck? What the hell were they whispering to each other—and since when did Mikasa look and willingly touch any guy but him? _

"Mikasa?" He stepped forward, seeing her eyes dart up in complete surprise.

"Eren?"

He stumbled forward clumsily. _Who the fuck is that guy? What the fuck are you two doing? _He felt like shouting it at her, demanding answers, but his voice came out much too thinly. "Mikasa…what are you doing?"

She didn't respond, only looked at him blankly, and as she opened her mouth he saw the guy underneath her _lift _her up, putting her on her feet, his hands touching her lightly, adjusting her clothing, murmuring something to her, his arms around her. It spoke of intimacy.

And it made his tongue thick with rage.

The guy walked away from her, looking like one of those badly presented hard asses in action movies, scaling the fence like he was a fucking cat. He gave Mikasa this weird look, a look that made Eren want to claw the jerk's stoner eyes out. He called out something Eren didn't catch, telling Mikasa something that made her rock back on her heels.

Eren finally connected his brain back to his body, making his feet move forward just as the guy revved his huge stupid motorcycle and disappeared.

"Mikasa?" Eren grabbed her elbows, forcing her eyes to tear away from where the man had been, forcing her to look at _him _instead. "Mikasa what the hell was that?"

She was shutting herself off quickly, trying to retreat behind her usual cool composure. "That was—he was just—a customer."

Mikasa was a horrible liar—and where before Eren had found that fact almost endearing, it now made him want to almost strangle her. It made him want to believe those words desperately.

But she was looking away uncomfortably, her pretty dark eyes looking at anywhere but him, her hand tucking her scarf up over her small mouth and nose and Eren _knew, _knew her more than he knew himself, more than anything.

"What the hell did he buy?" He shook her a little, feeling rattled. "Or maybe I should ask what the hell you were selling?"

She stiffened—and he cursed himself. "No, wait, Mikasa—I didn't mean that."

She inhaled shakily. "He's just an old friend." She kept her eyes shut.

And she was still lying.

But he felt guilty enough to let it slip. For now. "Have you taken your lunch?"

She swallowed. "No."

"Good." He grabbed her hand, tugging her out the alleyway, hoped she couldn't feel the way he was shaking. "Let's go eat."

If he didn't puke before they even got there, anyway.

* * *

It wasn't that Eren didn't know Mikasa was pretty, he mused, stabbing a french-fry with a fork as he sat across the small table. He knew it more than anyone. He lived with her, for god's sake, had seen her in just a t shirt, had seen her get out of the shower in just a towel, her skin damp and dewy. He'd seen her so tired she'd passed out on the kitchen table with her mouth wide open, had seen her smile even when she was so tired she could barely think, had seen her face swollen from sleep and tears—and he knew how beautiful she was because he'd seen all those moments, had carefully folded them away in his memory, tried not to think of them, especially not in front of others.

Because he didn't know what she felt for him. Not exactly, anyway.

She loved him, he knew that, but how many times had she called him her _family? _And what the hell did that even mean? Could she ever look at him as a _man _and not just some stupid kid brother?

He didn't really know. Because he'd never seen Mikasa interested in any guys in school. He'd always rather hoped maybe it was because she felt something for _him_. Only him.

And it had been a day of awful surprises—first Juro, then that stupid stoner in the alley.

He'd felt a little insecure with Juro because the guy was perfect, with one of those jaws chiseled out of marble, the kind of build that took way too much effort but Mikasa had rejected him anyway—but what if Eren had been totally wrong?

What if she liked guys like that thug in the alley? What if she liked tattoos and smokers and Harley's and bad boys who looked like they hadn't ate in months and who could take her for rides on their bikes? What if that dangerous shit excited her?

He was so very normal, so _ordinary,_ their afternoons spent watching TV curled up on the couch and arguing about what they should have for dinner, the riskiest things he ever did was get into a bunch of fights he almost always lost, sometimes put cinnamon in his oatmeal.

And if she did like those kind of guys—how the hell could he even begin to compare? He didn't stand a fucking chance.

"You're not eating." She slipped the straw between her lips, drinking her usual drink of peach raspberry iced tea.

He pushed the fork into his mouth stiffly. "You haven't ate much either." The food tasted bitter. "Maybe I want to lose some weight." _Maybe you'll like me like that. _

Mikasa looked at him with the slightest of frowns. "Why would you want to lose weight, Eren?"

"Dunno." He drank his soda. "I've been thinking about getting some tattoos, too." He chewed another fry. "Maybe buy some cigs."

Mikasa put her fork down with a clatter. "Where is all of this coming from, Eren?"

He scowled, throwing a french-fry onto her plate childishly. "I don't know, Mikasa." He caved. "Who the hell was that douche bag you were rolling around with in the alley?" He felt his chest burn along with his cheeks, didn't tear his eyes away from her, reading every subtle flicker of emotion.

Her throat worked, and she looked away, out the window beside them. "He's a regular at the restaurant. I was throwing the trash out and he was there and we started talking. That's all."

His lips pressed together thinly. "And then you two started rolling around with each other?"

She still wouldn't look at him. "It's…complicated."

He pushed his plate away. "I'm done. Let's just go home." And it was infuriating but he could feel the shakiness in his throat, felt like locking himself in his room and wallowing in his own misery.

"I can't."

He exploded to his feet. "Yeah, go ahead, run off with your druggie boyfriend."

He tugged on his jacket as he slipped outside, was about to walk off when Mikasa grabbed his arm, pulling it backwards.

"Eren—"

"Don't worry about it. It's none of my business, right?" He couldn't look at her, focused his gaze on the empty street, on the way the night crept over the buildings, shadows stretching thin. "You can mess around with whoever you want, Mikasa." The words felt like knives on his tongue, in his throat, and his wrist was still in her grip. "You go to school, work yourself to the bone to help support us because I can't find a damn job, you buy me a tux and don't even think about buying yourself a dress." He let his fingers hook between hers, gripping them tightly, still facing away from her. "I want you to have fun, too." His voice was just a rasp now. "It would be selfish for me to…to want you to not see any guys."

Her fingers tightened around his. "Eren…it's not like that…with him. Or anyone."

He looked back at her now, saw her other hand pulling up her scarf—_his _scarf—the lightest shade of pink tinting the tops of her cheeks.

Still, their fingers stayed linked.

He couldn't quite hear much over the thunderous sound of his heart, neither did he understand if she had understood what he'd been trying to say, and he didn't understand if she meant what he _thought_. If her blush meant that she was trying to tell him that there was a chance…

But he didn't want to get his hopes up.

But he could, however selfish it was, reassure himself. "You mean you aren't…going out with that guy?" He touched the back of his head self-consciously. "Or anyone else?"

The scarf hid her mouth but he could almost swear she was smiling. "No. I'm not. I don't want to."

_Good. _

"Alright." He pulled her forward, giving her a rare hug, pressing his mouth to her hair, inhaling deeply. "Let's go home, yeah? Make popcorn and watch some mystery documentaries or something."

They pulled away from one another. "Cartoons." She mumbled and he grinned at her.

"_Fine. _Cartoons."

"But Eren?"

"Yeah?"

She pulled open her sweater, showing him her apron, and he tried not to look at other things. "I need to go back to work. This was my lunch, remember?"

_Crap. _"Yeah, sorry." He checked his cellphone. "Want me to pick you up?"

She nodded. "Nine."

He frowned. It would be late but he figured he could manage. "Alright. I'll be there."

He only hoped he didn't screw this up like he screwed everything else up.

* * *

**A/N-Did I just update one chapter right after the other? I did. My brain is fried. **

**Now, I'm not saying I don't like reviews. I do. Of course I do. **

_**But**_** I also like when there's just a little handful, too. Small enough that I can address each single one. So, here goes. **

**Guest-- "Not bad" you say? Good enough for me. If anything that sort of reminds me of Levi. Also, the fact that you wished me luck on updating all four of my stories makes me think maybe you've read my other works? Either way, thank you. Thank you for reviewing and encouraging me. I'm indecisive and insecure and I need reassurance constantly. I annoy even myself. **

**Scavirr-I like protective Eren, too. You know what else I like? Jealous Eren. It's petty and immature but I do. I hope you liked my update. I really do.**

**Ma-Ahhhh, thank you. I hope the 'more' you hoped for was...what you hoped for (I laughed at this for like five minutes, guys, my lameness knows no limits)**

**VitaminPiller--I had _just_ updated when you wrote the review so I went back and put you in. Thank you for liking it because there are a billion reasons for you to hate it. This quick update...ah, I don't do this often. Trust me. I hope you like it enough for it to be worth the wait. **

**JanieZ--You wrote me a lengthy review! It makes me happy because the first chapter was iffy, I know, and I freely admit this. I knew it wouldn't lure in a large group at all but I sort of wrote this because I just _needed _to, you know? And it makes me inexplicably happy that you could like this because it felt like (it always feels like this but the feeling was sharper here and I can't quite explain why-perhaps because I'm using a lot of personal experiences) I bared part of my mind here and you didn't shun it at all. Specifically, the whole Levi having a romantic relationship with Mikasa's mother. I hadn't ever seen that anywhere else so I felt like it was just risky putting it out there_ (what if they don't like it, what if they hate it, what if it's really stupid and you just THINK it's a great idea)_ so you made me feel very happy when you approved of it. I loved your review. I felt like you completely spoiled me and sort of took my hand and pulled me forward and told me everything was okay. Again, thank you for helping me with the title. I expect you to message me on tumblr and tell me what you want to see in the next chapter (more jealous Eren? jealous Mikasa? maybe you want her prom dress to be a specific color or style? Anything) and I'll make it happen, as little as that is worth. Thank you. I adore you.**


	3. Color

"Eren, I don't think this is a good idea—"

"Armin, I need the money. Please." Eren set his jaw, green eyes glimmering, his pride swallowed with a shaky breath. "How much can I get for it? I only got about…" Eren pulled a handful of crushed dollars out of his jacket pocket. "Forty bucks for those shoes Mikasa bought me." He wrinkled his nose. "I got only like thirty for the dress shirt. Guy swindled me." He stuffed the money back into his pocket. "How much do heels usually cost?"

Armin looked a little baffled, blinking rapidly from behind the glass counter. "Ah…I don't know. But Eren, Mikasa bought _you_ that cell phone. I'm sure she'd rather you keep the cell phone instead of selling it for a dress she may not even…like." He looked a little uncomfortable as he finished his sentence.

Eren inhaled deeply. "_Armin_." He whined. "Pretend I'm just a regular customer walking into an electronics store (a regular customer who you've known since we were both in diapers and who carried you through the woods when you broke your leg instead of leaving you behind) who wants to sell his cell." Eren leaned forward onto his elbows, giving Armin a hard look. "How much would you offer?"

Armin pushed a breath out of his lungs, his gold bangs ruffling, tapping a pen nervously against the glass top. "Are you sure about this, Eren? You know Mikasa will probably be mad, right?"

Eren nodded firmly, sliding his phone towards Armin. "I'm getting her a stupid dress even if she erupts."

* * *

_Mikasa. _

She really did look just like her mother. It had disarmed him, made his movements hesitant, his heart stutter when he'd been so very numb for so long. When was the last time he'd given a shit about anything besides getting his next fix?

_"I could kill you." _

And she would have. Her voice had held no cracks, her eyes no confliction, her knife steady. It had thrilled him, in a way that he knew it shouldn't, had made something billow within his hollow chest, _pride _almost.

She'd survived. She hadn't withered, hadn't become a broken, fearful creature but she'd _bloomed, _grown fiercer somehow, a flower that broke through the stone walls of a canyon. And yes, she looked like her mother, and like her she had held her fire even amidst the murky waters lingering about them. But while her mother had retained her softness Mikasa Ackerman was all sharp lines, lethal, powerful.

"_It would be self-defense."_

No softness. No mercy. But her entire _being _had changed as soon as that brat had spoken her name.

_Eren?_

Getting her away from this shit would be nearly impossible, but not completely. She just needed the right motivation.

No, Mikasa Ackerman wasn't weak.

But she had weaknesses nonetheless.

"Eren Yeager." Levi murmured to himself, the taste of nicotine still on his tongue. "Another stupid fucking name."

* * *

"Miss Hange?"

"Hanji," She corrected a little absentmindedly, adjusting her glasses as she looked away from her paperwork. "Yes?"

Eren clutched at the two prom tickets in his hand tightly, nervously tapping them against his thigh. "Ah, I was wondering…if I could…talk to you about something?" Out of all the teachers Eren had he'd always liked Miss Hange—_Hanji_— the most, her quirkiness and kindness both fascinating and disquieting him. That and well, Armin clung to her all the time. She'd sort of been a surrogate mother to the three of them.

He knew she involved herself in her work much more than necessary, knew she stayed at the high school after hours on Friday nights, and just as he'd expected he'd found her pouring over books and papers in an empty classroom.

_She has no husband, no children, _he'd heard the adults whisper when they thought no one else could hear. _She must be terribly lonely. _

Eren scowled, brushing away the thoughts. She was kind and she was brilliant and she was always there to help and whether she did or didn't have a husband or did or didn't _want_ one was none of his or anyone's concern._  
_

"What kind of something?" She cupped her chin in her hand, still looking a bit distracted.

Eren felt his tongue stiffen. _Why does this feel so weird? _He lifted the prom tickets. "Well, you see…I—"

"Oh." She seemed to finally _see _him, the glazed look leaving her eyes, a sharpness returning to them as she looked at the tickets. "_Oh._ Eren, I'm flattered but taking a teacher to prom isn't—"

"What? No! No. I meant…I need help picking a dress." Jesus, he was screwing this up.

Hanji blinked. "_Oh._"

Eren felt like punching himself. "Not for me."

She smiled at him sympathetically, clearly not believing him. "Of course not." She stood, sliding her glasses atop her head. "I'll help you."

It took everything he had not to turn around and walk away. And keep walking. Perhaps to Timbuktu. "I want to buy Mikasa a dress." He finally bit out, his palms sweaty. "But I don't know her size. If I ask her she'll start asking me what I'm up to and I want it to be a…surprise."

"Ah." She murmured, sitting on the edge of her desk, childishly swinging her legs, tapping the back of her heels against the wood. "I can help you with that." She grinned, grabbing her purse and keys. "How romantic of you, Eren."

Eren was baffled for several moments, tongue-tied and more than a little stunned. _Romantic? _She didn't question his actions at all, hadn't assumed that it was a gesture a brother would do for his sister, a platonic one. Most people knew they were adoptive siblings and so they treated them as such but _she _hadn't. She'd implied something more with just a simple, offhand remark. Implied that perhaps she knew that they _weren't _siblings at all, that they'd never been able to look at each other without an edge of wonder, that the connection they shared was born out of risky, impossible chances, of blood and shared pain, of a love that had somehow clawed it's way up despite everything that should have buried it.

A bond that was as unbreakable as family, as precarious and unsure as a first love.

_Romantic._

He looked up to find Hanji watching him with a kind, perceptive gaze. She looked at him the same way Armin did. Like they knew it all just from a glance, knew the complicated mess he felt for her, perhaps knew that it wasn't complicated at all.

And though it unnerved him, Eren decided he liked people like Armin and Hanji the most.

_How romantic of you_

"Yeah," Eren ignored the heat stinging his cheeks. "I guess it is."

* * *

_Just scare the living shit out of him. _Levi mused to himself, sticking a piece of mint gum into his mouth. He gave the dress shop across the street a sideways, casual glance, watching Eren awkwardly fumble through the dress racks with a slim, older woman, his brow furrowed as she lifted a dress to his chest. _He always looks like he's constipated anyway. Scaring the shit out of him might be a relief for him. _

"Levi?"

He stiffened a little, disliking that someone had caught him unawares. Trying to get clean was wrecking his usually sharp senses. He turned to find a man coming out of the liquor shop he was leaning against, one eye bright bottle blue the other a cloudy, filmy color. An injury he himself had inflicted upon the rotten bastard.

_Claude._

"Levi, I haven't seen you in…years." Claude stepped towards him hesitantly, his stupid face looking apologetic, hopeful. "What are you doing here?"

And if he'd thought years would perhaps cool the volcanic rage and agony always boiling in the pits of his gut, he was very, very wrong. He bit down on the gum, his teeth clenched so hard he felt as if his jaw would snap. "I'm doing whatever the fuck I'm doing." His hands balled into fists, deeply shoved into his pockets. "The fact that you're talking to me obviously means my last beating didn't do the trick."

_That won't be a problem this time, though. _

Claude took a step back—and suddenly a group of five men slunk out of the alley, flanking Claude quickly, their dull gazes fixed on Levi's smaller form.

_Fucker. _

"I like you, Levi." Claude murmured, his gaze mockingly unhappy. "We used to be great together, back then, yeah? You used to be my fucking idol, you know that? You still kind of are." Claude shook his head, the pieces of dirty blonde hair sticking out from beneath his beanie lank and greasy. "When you did this to me." He gestured to his face with a dirty finger. "When you scarred me up…" He gestured to his cloudy eye. "What really, _really _fucking hurt me, more than anything…" He stepped closer. "Was the hate in your eyes." Closer, near enough for Levi to smell sweaty, unwashed skin, rotten breath, urine. "Because I fucking _loved_ you." He tapped Levi's chest—and Levi snatched his wrist lightening quick. "I loved you like a brother. Like family."

"I told you not to get fucking attached to me." Levi shoved him back. "I told you never to trust anyone."

Claude stumbled a little, holding back his thugs when they moved to grab him. "Yeah." Claude sneered a little. "I remember. You taught me a lot of useful shit, Levi. Everything I did…_Everything _that I did. Even to that precious bitch of yours…" He murmured. "Was what _you_ taught _me_."

Levi felt his lip curl. "If you're going to fucking kill me go ahead and try it. I'd rather have my throat slit than listen to your lecture."

Claude laughed, the sound twisted, hyena-like. "Still as bitchy as ever, eh, Levi?" Claude quieted. "We're not going to do anything to you. Even though you double-crossed us all and fucked me over—for some stupid bitch, no less—I'm still grateful for the years you took me under your wing. I would have been dead if it wasn't for you." He gestured to the street. "It's why I am where I am now. I've gotten kind of big around here, you know. Something like what you were back in the day, before you slipped away like the rat you are."

Levi leaned against the wall again, feigning nonchalance. Claude's name had gotten much, much more known, each year that had slipped by adding a notch onto the bastards belt. And Levi had known that Mikasa had left, had known that Claude was vindictive enough to go in search of her, had known that she was in danger—but it had still taken him _years _to get himself together. Years of snuffing pain with liquor, powders and needles. And by the time he'd gotten a grip on his shit it had taken years to find her again. And once he had found her he had he'd spent a few months just watching her, the sight of her electrifying and agonizing.

_She looks so much like you. _

"I think it's kind of funny that we're both in the same town, don't you?" Claude interrupted his thoughts, his mismatched eyes hardening. "Why are you here, Levi?"

_I know you're searching for her. I know what you want. I know what you'll do to her when you get your hands on her. _

Levi forced his body to relax, prying his clenched teeth apart, swallowing the gum, the taste doing nothing to mask the tang of bile at the base of his throat. "I came here to look for you." Yes, Claude was vindictive. Claude probably _loathed_ him. But Claude had always had some moronic hero's worship for him. And yes, Claude had grown strong just like Mikasa, but everyone, _everyone _had weaknesses. Claude had worshipped him once. He could make the fucking idiot worship him again—if only until he could get Mikasa and himself the hell out of here. He met Claude's gaze head on, forcing his rage back, back into the deep corners of his mind. "I want back in."

Claude's brows rose, his scarred lips parting. "Back in…with us?" Claude's brow furrowed, suspicious. "With me?"

_Surprise, surprise, _Levi thought bitterly. "Yeah." And if he wasn't trying to stop his shaking hands from burying the knife in his pocket into Claude's neck he would have rolled his eyes at Claude's hopeful tone. "I finally got my shit together." He shrugged. "And I came here looking for you." _Saying I was just passing through won't cut it. _He gestured to the street, much like Claude had. "And I want back in."

There were several moments of silence, and Levi watched Eren through the window discreetly, saw his fingers pause on a certain dress.

Claude stepped forward and Levi braced himself—and suddenly Claude's arms were around him, his large hand clapping his back roughly, welcomingly.

"Yeah, man." Claude kept hugging him and it took Levi everything he had to hold himself still, to not reach up and snap his neck with his own hands. "Of course you can have back in. We can be friends again, yeah? A fresh start."

_You killed her. You fucking killed her. _

"Yeah." Levi couldn't quite look at him, biting back his vomit. "A fresh start."

He let Claude keep his arm around him as they all walked away.

* * *

"Isn't red her favorite color?" Hanji murmured, biting the tip of her glasses. "You know, it's the color of the scarf she always wears."

Eren swallowed. "Ah, no. Well…I don't think Mikasa has a favorite color. I think she's sick of red, though." Her scarf and her apron—things she wore everyday—were red. He saw her in red all the time. And for some really stupid, really weird reason, Eren wanted to see her in a different color.

"Well, what's _your_ favorite color?" Hanji kept fumbling through the dress racks.

"Ah…" Eren paused when his sleeve caught on a plastic hanger, scowling until he saw the dress in front of it. It was a dark color, not quite black, the material shimmery, iridescent and silky. The skirt was short, billowy, the neckline a little more plunging than anything she usually wore and the sleeves were a sparkly black lace, something that would easily slip off her shoulders. He tugged it out, running his fingers over it. "This one."

Hanji cocked her head, her eyes all bright curiosity. "Your favorite color is black?"

Eren rubbed a gossamer fold between his rough fingertips. It was black, he supposed, but with every movement there was a kaleidoscope of colors that flickered across its surface, like the oil that pooled beneath wounded cars, black blood that reflected everything in pinks, greens and blues. It reminded Eren of Mikasa's hair under the twilight sky or the deep hours of dawn, those nights when one of them had a nightmare and they'd slip up on the roof and huddle together in silence.

The color of her eyes when she held tears in them.

Black with broken bits of brilliance. The ocean at night under a full moon. A color no one else's eyes seemed to have.

"Yeah." Eren smiled a little to himself. "It is."

* * *

Hanji didn't consider herself the most brilliant of people. She was, however, not dull by any means. She could see the thug trailing behind them as they walked to the parking lot. He was getting closer and closer with every passing second and there were no witnesses about them. The cops would get here much, much too late. "Eren?" She slipped her hand into her purse, rummaging. She handed him her car keys. "Go get in the car." She shoved her purse at him, slipping out her weapon.

"Miss Hange?"

"_Hanji._" She corrected quickly, walking towards the thug defiantly.

"Hanji?" Eren called, struggling to hold her purse, keys, Mikasa's dress and shoes, fumbling. "What are you doing?"

The thug paused when she locked her eyes onto him, his hood cloaking his features. _Doesn't matter,_ Hanji thought ruthlessly, gripping her small Taser tightly, clicking it on, aiming the laser dead center at his chest.

"Miss Hanji?" Eren's voice scraped out his throat. "What are you doing?" He repeated.

Eren was still a child. She was his teacher. She needed to protect him. "Bug zapping."

She heard the thug curse as she pushed down, aiming her taser as he spun, the probes shooting forward—but he grabbed her wrist, faster than she thought humanly possible, twisting her arm forward, _lifting _her and throwing her over his shoulder. Her back hit the pavement, the air tearing out of her lungs, pain cracking across the back of her skull. She groaned a little, her taser skittering across the damp asphalt, saw him lift his hand over her head—and then Eren slammed into him, both of them stumbling onto the pavement, hitting a parked car.

"_Fuck." _

She heard Eren curse, and she scrambled up, frantically fixing her askew glasses, crawling over to the buzzing taser. _I need another cartridge, _she looked about her, _where's my purse?_

She found it thrown under her car, swiftly pulled out another, replacing it. She lifted the taser, her hands steady, seeing Eren and the thug struggling viciously. The thug suddenly pulled out a knife, swiping at Eren—and Eren fell back, using the garment bag to deflect the knife—and Hanji aimed the small red laser onto the thugs back.

_Got you._

She shot it out, the probes piercing his jacket, his skin, the popping, crackling sound of electricity nearly drowning out the man's choked cry. Hanji walked towards him, stilling holding the taser aloft as he crumpled at their feet. "Eren, get up. Get in the car, turn it on. I'll hold him here."

Eren struggled to his feet. "But—"

"Eren," She bit out sharply. "_Now._"

He nodded, grabbing everything as quickly as he could. She watched the thug spasm on the ground, held it until the current passed. She disconnected it slowly, boldly crouching over him, peering at his features.

"Sorry, there." She smiled, was sure the expression didn't look at all nice. "Couldn't let you hurt us now, could I?"

The man struggled to speak, jutting out his chin, exposing a narrow jawline, black hair, hard blue eyes. Almost handsome, she thought, until he spoke. "Fucking…" He hissed. "…four eyes."

She chuckled, shaking her head as she straightened. "The better to aim at criminals with." She walked away from him, sliding into the car.

"Are you okay?" Hanji asked Eren, clicking on her seatbelt.

He nodded jerkily. "Are you?"

She grinned, shifting into drive, slamming down on the gas pedal. "I've wanted to use this baby since I first got it." She focused onto the road, adrenaline still flowing through her blood. "I'm _fantastic_."

* * *

"Hannes?" Mikasa queried, her brow furrowed as she stepped out, quickly locking up her workplace.

"Mikasa." He called out, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his uniform crumpled and twisted. He held two steaming cups in his gloved hands, and he gestured for her to come towards him, sitting on the small wooden bench beneath the streetlamp. "I got you some hot chocolate."

She smiled a little, bundling herself further in her jacket as she sat by him. She took the cup gratefully, tugging down her scarf to sip at it.

"Eren is picking you up, right?" Hannes murmured, hunching forward onto his knees, his large hands cradling his small cup.

She nodded. "I got out a little early."

Hannes grunted. "I'll keep you company until he gets here."

Silence enveloped them, broken only by rubber soles scraping over gritty pavement, the distant barks of dogs, a passing car.

"How are things?" Hannes blurted, a little awkwardly. "Have you or Eren heard from your…from Grisha?"

Mikasa pulled the cup away from her heat stung lips, licking them before speaking. "No…he'll call every month or so. Eren still refuses to speak to him."

Hannes looked very bitter. "That's understandable. What did he tell you?"

She curled her legs up onto the bench, pressing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "He said he was very busy, traveling, offering his medical services to the less fortunate…" _But he sounded very, very shaken up. He didn't sound well at all. _"He said he didn't think he'd make it in time for prom or for…graduation."

She felt Hannes sharp gaze on her, but she held her calm, slowly placing the cup in the space between them. "Huh."

"I…" She faltered slightly. "I haven't told Eren."

Hannes swallow was audible. "Wait…I'll try to get a hold of Grisha, talk some sense into him."

She kept her eyes on the empty street before them. "I'll try." She didn't want to see Eren's green eyes harden any more than they already had, didn't want to see the bitter curve of his lips, the pain he bit back with harsh words and a careless, jerky shrug.

Hannes hand reached out, gripping her shoulder, squeezing. "Mikasa…"

She looked at his bent head, a little startled at the sudden misery that was written all over him. "Hannes—?"

"I know I'm not much." He suddenly rasped. "I'm an old man and I probably drink more than I should and I know that…I know that after what I've done—what I _didn't _do—I know that you probably think the worst of me."

Mikasa shook her head, her voice lost to her for several seconds. It had all been on her head, the blame on _her_, but no one had ever accused her, had ever resented her and she didn't understand why no one had. And more still, why she never asked this burning question, why she never dared breathe it. Perhaps because she feared that once she spoke it, gave it voice, they would realize the truth, realize that she really was the bane of their existence, the one who had ruined their happiness—and she was so, so afraid of them discovering it, afraid of what would become of her, knew she deserved whatever fate they wished upon her. "I don't—"

"But you and Eren…you guys have me." He offered, his light eyes glimmering, his smile terribly wretched. "I'll be there for your graduation. I've watched you two grow up. I kind of feel like you guys are my kids, you know."

She gripped his wrist. "Hannes." _Why can't I speak? Hannes shouldn't carry all of the blame on his back—not when I'm the one who…_ "Hannes, it isn't your fault." _It's mine. _

"It doesn't matter." He sniffled a little, pulling away, his leg shaking nervously. "I just wanted to make sure you guys knew I'd be there. For graduation and for…prom." He wrinkled his nose at her, humor suddenly curling into his voice. "Are you going?"

Her tongue felt clumsy. "No."

He sighed. "You're lying to me. Of course you are. You're beautiful—you look just like your mother." He scowled at the ground. "You know…you know to be safe, right? You know about…" Hannes struggled through his stammer, his blush furious. "About protection? Condoms and…birth control?"

She touched her warm cheek self-consciously. "Yes." She burrowed into her scarf. "I'm not going to prom."

"Ah, you girls and your secret boyfriends." Hannes shrugged. "Who's the lucky guy? Or, ah, girl?" Hannes pulled out his phone. "I can do a full background check tonight." He tapped at the screen. "Take them for a ride along." He looked up thoughtfully. "Show them my guns. Give them a tour of the jail cells."

She hid her broken smile behind her cup. "I'm not—"

A car turned around the corner, small and black, the rattling sound of the engine familiar. Eren parked before them, rolling down the window. He looked a little disheveled, almost flustered, trying to seem composed. They both stood.

"Eren?" Mikasa called. "Eren, I texted you but you—"

"Hey, Hannes!" Eren called, a little too cheerfully. He eyed the cups in their hands. "Did you get me one?"

Hannes arched a brow. "I drank it because you took too long to get here." He gestured to Mikasa. "You should get here earlier. Leaving Mikasa waiting out here isn't—"

"Hannes," Mikasa interrupted, trying to prevent another verbal altercation between the two. "Thank you for waiting with me." She pulled up her scarf.

"Ah, yeah. No problem." He touched the back of his neck. "Take care of yourselves, alright?" He looked sheepish. "If you kids need anything just let me know."

She nodded, stepped away—and paused. "Hannes?"

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"_You guys have me." _

She embraced him, tightly, her heart thrashing viciously within her ribcage. _Thank you. _She felt the way he stiffened, felt his confusion and she couldn't quite speak the words but somehow he seemed to hear them. He touched the top of her head affectionately, and for a moment the memory of her own father fractured into her mind, jolting her. She could almost smell him, almost pretend he was the one who embraced her in return, pretend he wasn't gone.

"Thanks, Mikasa." Hannes shook her hair.

She set her jaw, nodding, pulling away. "Good night, Hannes."

"Night."

She slid into the passenger seat, feeling curiously drained, handing Eren her cup of hot chocolate absentmindedly.

"What was that about?" Eren grumbled, sipping as he drove away.

She watched Hannes turn in the opposite direction. "Hannes said he'd be there." Mikasa burrowed deeper into the seat, shutting her eyes, her scarf muffling her words. "For graduation."

"Oh." Eren murmured. He put the cup into the cup holder between them. "Of course he is."

She yawned, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Hey Mikasa?"

She cracked her eyes open. "Hm?"

Eren stopped at a red light. "What's your favorite color?"

_My favorite color? _She almost asked him where this question came from, but the way he was watching her strangled the thought. They were enveloped in the soft red glow from the traffic lights, yet even still the deep green of his eyes was clear.

She watched him for several long moments, let herself sink into that hard look, one of full concentration. It was a rare thing, having Eren's entire burning focus on her, and she let it draw out for several moments, memorizing the way the green glowed beneath the red burn. Green like wet grass, damp leaves. Like jade, like glass bottles. _Emerald, _she almost thought, except the stones could never hold the fire his gaze always possessed, the fire he carried everywhere he went.

"Green." She whispered, lifting the scarf up and breathing in deeply. "My favorite color is green."

* * *

_Green? _Eren would have never guessed that color, would have probably guessed every color _but _that one.

He'd gotten her a _black_ dress. What if she hated it?

_She'll love it, Eren, don't worry about it, _Hanji had muttered after he'd gotten off her car.

She really was a strange woman. She had said she'd call the cops as soon as she got inside her house but she'd looked oddly cheerful, had almost _giggled _when they'd driven away.

Eren huffed to himself. He supposed almost getting mugged in this town wasn't much of a big deal. Still, it had scared the crap out of him when the thug had swiped that knife at him. Rattled him, really. He couldn't quite quit the shaking in his hands.

Eren parked in the driveway, slowly sliding the windows up, tried to hide his nervousness. "I actually got you a present." He cleared his throat when she didn't respond, turning the car off. "I don't really know anything about clothes, or um sizes, but…" He peered at her—and went quiet.

She was twisted to her side, the seatbelt wrapped about her uncomfortably, her eyes shut, her hand curled beneath her cheek. Her breathing was slow and even, her small mouth parted, her inky lashes fanning over her ivory skin.

_She's exhausted, _Eren thought ruefully, slipping out of his door and making his way to hers. He opened it, hesitating for a moment before crouching in, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"I haven't carried you since we were kids, have I?" He murmured, leaning her against him, shutting the door with his foot. As he carried her into the apartment complex he became very aware of how soft she felt, the welcoming weight against his chest, the way her breath caressed his throat. Her head lolled against his shoulder, slipping back, exposing the pale line of her neck, her parted lips offered up, tempting and touchable. He cleared his throat, looking away as he entered—_his_ bedroom.

_Right. I should put her in her own bed. _

Still, his feet didn't move and his arms were starting to shake, carrying her upstairs and the fight with the thug leeching him of his usual energy.

"Hey, Mikasa, do you want…to sleep in my bed? For old time's sake?"

She said nothing, no shift in her expression, not even a twitch of her finger. _She really is beat._ He let out a breath, sliding her onto his bed carefully. No, they hadn't slept in the same bed since they'd been children—and he could recall, with a painful vividness, the last time Mikasa had tried to sleep with him.

It'd been a few nights after his mother had died and she'd stood at his bedroom door—the bedroom Hannes had offered him, hers across the hall—shaking, tears drenching her cheeks, her hair clinging to her damp skin.

"_Eren…can I stay here with you?"_

He'd been crying himself, had been filled with rage and anger and hopelessness, wishing, _wishing _that it had all been a mistake, that his mother was alive, that she was just hurt, he'd wake up and it would all be just a horrible, sickening nightmare. But he'd seen the bullet pass through her, had seen the horrible ripple of the bones in her face as it had, blood everywhere, _everywhere_ and—

"_Leave me alone, Mikasa." _

"_Eren, I can't…sleep. I keep having nightmares. I keep feeling them breathing down my neck—"_

"_She wasn't your mom!" _He'd sat up, glared at her with all of the rage and agony burning through him, his words visibly cutting her. _"She was my mom! I'm not your brother—so we shouldn't sleep together in the same bed like we are!" _And the sobs had shook him, fracturing his rib cage, reducing him to a weepy, broken mess. _"She wasn't your mom. She was mine." _

And she'd left, saying nothing, her expression as icy as the night her own parents had died. And she'd never once crawled back into his bedroom, had never referred to his parents as her own, had never called him her brother.

_You're my family. _

She'd put distance between them, somehow keeping herself shut off even while she hovered over him. And he regretted what he'd told her, regretted how he'd hurt her, and it had taken months for him to be okay again, even longer for him to get her to smile just once and even then it had seemed so very forced.

And though he had nightmare after nightmare, even when he'd heard her soft cries from across the hall, she'd never once asked him to hold her again.

And it had left him feeling a little bitter.

Angry at himself.

She shifted over his mattress, her scarf—his scarf—wrapping about her face completely, making him smile a little. _She's going to smother herself, _he thought, slowly unwrapping it, tugging it out from underneath her head—she woke, her hand gripping his wrist reflexively, her nails biting into his skin.

"Ouch, hey, Mikasa—cut it out."

She blinked, inhaling shakily, prying her nails out of his skin. "I'm…sorry." She sat up, looking about them in confusion. "Why am I…here?"

_Crap. _"Ah, you fell asleep in the car and so I carried you up. I know my room is warmer than yours so I thought you'd like…staying here for the night." _That's such a shitty excuse. _

She slid her legs over the edge of his bed, rewrapping her scarf about her neck and mouth. "Thank you, Eren." And suddenly she was all ice, as distant as the moon—like she had the night he'd screamed at her. "My room is fine. Thank you for carrying me." She stood. "Good night."

His hand shot out of its own will, his fingers wrapping about her wrist. "Mikasa, I.." _Fuck. _"I want you to stay."

She turned to look at him, her ice thawing, her expression openly confused, quizzical. "Stay?"

She looked so bewildered, so baffled that he'd ask her to stay with him that he almost wanted to head butt her. _Does she really think I hate her that much? _

"Yeah. In my room and…my bed." He swallowed, her words replaying in his head. _He's my family. _

"Do you feel okay?"

He deflated. "Mikasa, I don't have a fever." He brushed her hand away from his forehead. "Do you want to stay or not?"

Her dark eyes searched his intently, and he wondered if she could see how badly he wanted her to stay, how badly he regretted what he'd told her all those years ago, how many times he'd almost slipped into her bed. He wondered if she could read what she made him feel. If she could see how confusing it was. How clear it all was when she looked at him like that.

"Yes." She looked away. "I want to stay."

Relief and anxiety broke through him in equal measure, and he smiled, a little hesitantly, tugging her towards the bed. "Alright." _Fuck, I'm shaking. _He released her hand, removing his jacket and throwing it across the room. "I'm going to go brush my teeth and stuff."

She nodded and he quickly slipped into his bathroom, leaning against the door in exhaustion.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

* * *

Mikasa didn't remember much after Eren had left. She only remembered sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, kicking off her shoes and pulling off her sweater—and not much else. She'd felt so tired, too tired to be nervous, the week, months of working late hours and attempting to catch up on schoolwork and waking up early, of taxing her mind, her hands her back crashing down on her. The few times she'd been able to sleep her mind had been restless with nightmares, waking her constantly, nearly driving her mad with exhaustion.

And she'd sunken into Eren's bed, his scent enveloping her, the sound of sink water as he brushed his teeth soothing, and she let her eyes shut, breathing in deeply—and let herself sink into slumber gratefully.

* * *

Eren muffled a curse as he slid down the hall, the phone's rings amplified by the silence enveloping their apartment. He fumbled as his socks slid across the pale linoleum, nearly dropping the phone as he lifted it.

"Yeah?"

"Eren?"

"Hey, Armin." Eren pressed the phone to his ear with his shoulder, punching down the ringer. "What's up?"

"I was just checking how the dress shopping went."

Eren cursed, remembering he'd left the dress and shoes in the trunk of his car. "It went okay, I think. Hanji went with me."

Armin paused. "She went with you?"

"Yeah." He could hear a little disgruntlement in Armin's voice, jealousy perhaps. "Good thing, too. We almost got mugged except she pulled out a damn taser and zapped the guy."

"What?" He could hear Armin drop something, a spoon it sounded like, chinking against a bowl. "Eren, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. He pulled a knife on me but she zapped him before he did anything." He didn't exactly feel like mentioning how he'd mostly just fallen and cussed and used a _dress_ as a shield.

"Eren, you need to be more careful! How is Hanji, though? Was she hurt? Did you guys call the cops—?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She was actually weirdly happy afterwards. Like she got off on electrifying the poor bastard." Eren yawned. "I think she called the cops. I don't know. I didn't want to tell Mikasa because, well, you know." He rubbed the backs of his eyelids. "What about you? You get home okay?"

"Yeah." Armin answered, sounding oddly energetic. "You're tired so I'll tell you in the morning, but Eren—I met someone today."

Eren perked up at that. "Met someone?"

"Yeah." And Armin was definitely smiling now. "She's a little close mouthed but I'll tell you about it tomorrow."

"You can tell me now." Eren was definitely curious, almost a little worried.

"No, it can wait. Meet me tomorrow morning at my workplace—maybe I'll introduce you to her. She's my…friend."

Eren yawned again. He'd tease him tomorrow. "Alright. Fine. 'Night, Armin."

"Goodnight, Eren."

* * *

"_You scratch just like cats." Claude whispered, sliding the knife over her neck, drawing a line of blood. "Tenacious bitches."_

_And suddenly Claude moved away, and she looked across the room, saw Eren bound and gagged, his face horrible bruised, one green eye barely visible as he stared at her, on his knees, at their mercy. _

"_I'm sorry, Mikasa."_

_Levi stood behind him, grabbing a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. "I told you, didn't I?" He held up a large knife over Eren's helpless form as he threw the words at her, the blade sharp and glimmering, a fang waiting to plunge into his heart. "You should have come with me. You got him involved in this." His blue eyes held no mercy, no hesitation. "You let this happen."_

_No, no, please, don't hurt him. _

"_Mikasa," Eren spoke through the cloth tied between his teeth. "It's okay." _

_No, no, no._

_Levi lifted the knife, his eyes never leaving hers as he plunged it deep into Eren's chest, puncturing his heart, the sound wet, tearing, horrible._

_She screamed his name, feeling the wound rip through her own heart, reached for him—_

Mikasa woke with a cry cutting out her throat, her hands lashing out—felt someone pin her down, struggled viciously.

"Mikasa!" Eren was crouched over her, his green eyes wide and startled, his dark hair falling over his brow. "Mikasa, it's okay." He soothed. "You're okay."

She clamped her hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs, turning away—but he didn't let her, only held her down beneath him, his hand pulling hers away from her mouth. He tugged her up, wrapping his arms around her tightly, his hand clasping the back of her head as she buried her face into his neck.

The sobs wracked her body, her nails digging into the backs of his shoulders, breathing nearly impossible. "Eren," She shut her eyes. "I didn't mean to."

He rubbed her back. "Didn't mean to what?" He shook his head. "Never mind. It was just a bad dream, Mikasa. I'm okay." He pulled her head away from his throat, clasping the sides of her face with his large hands. "See? I'm good."

Her face crumpled again. "I don't want to leave you."

He frowned. _Leave? _"What are you talking about?" He sat back, watched her shakily wipe her scarf over her face. "Why would you leave?" His voice sounded curiously high pitched, as if he didn't quite believe the words she'd spoken. "What do you mean leave, Mikasa?"

She shook her head, letting her hair inky hair curtain her features. "It was just…a bad dream." She forced herself to breathe evenly. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

He watched her darkly for several moments, then very slowly, very carefully, slunk to his side, facing away from her. He peered at her over his shoulder. "You can…hug me if you want."

Her shaking stilled, memories of their childhood flitting through her. She wiped at her damp face again, blinking rapidly. _Should she? _He'd been awfully kind to her, and she'd only disturbed his sleep, made him carry her when she knew he could barely lift Armin—or at least, when they'd been children.

But Eren had grown quite a bit in the past year, shoulders broadening, his jaw hardening, his hands spanning wide, engulfing hers. She'd known because it had been troublesome to get him clothes, having to buy larger ones within a few months, his shirts becoming ever longer and looser on her fit form.

And she'd seen a few girls' eyes linger on his arms, on his mouth, batting their lashes at him, and Eren was as oblivious to it as always but it had worried her nonetheless. She bothered him, she knew, had felt his resentment whenever she protected him—wondered if he'd find a girl that was softer than she was, smaller, fragile and delicate.

"_It would be selfish for me to…to want you to not see any guys."_

She still didn't know in what way he meant it, didn't want to overthink it, knew doing so would only confuse her so much more than she already was. She only knew that her heart had pounded so hard it had felt as if it'd crack her ribcage, felt it pulse within her throat. She wondered if he'd seen how very precarious he made her feel, wondered if he saw that he was the only boy who could make her feel so deeply.

The only one who could make her not so sane, the only one who kept her anchored.

"Are you going to hug me or not?" Eren grumbled.

She smiled, slowly slinking up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him tentatively, felt his heart pound beneath her palms, her own heart answering to the beat of his. She pressed her face to his back, nuzzling, smiling.

"This feels different from back then, huh?" His voice quivered.

She nodded. "You're a lot bigger now."

He grunted. "I'm trying to slim down."

She made a soft sound of amusement. "I like it." She felt heat prickle across the back of her neck, the tops of her cheeks. "You feel…strong." _Safe. Like home. _

His hand clasped over hers, pressing her damp palm over his thrashing heart. "Good."

She fell asleep smiling.

* * *

"Man," Claude hissed, looking at Levi's bare back with a grimace. "She got you good. You really are getting old." He barely dodged the cup Levi threw at him, the cup striking the passed out man on the couch instead, so deep in his drug induced coma he didn't even flinch. "You want some pills to knock you out?"

Levi gritted his teeth, shaking his head, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, his reflection broken in the fractured restroom mirror. _Fucking bitch, _he breathed through his nose. "I just need to hide out here for the night. Until the cops go back into their fucking pigpens. She got a good look at my face."

Claude nodded, grinning maliciously. "Yeah. You can sleep in the room across from my daughters."

Levi paused at that, his neck cracking as he frowned at Claude. "Daughter?"

Claude grinned. "Yeah." He stepped back, looking down the hallway, whistling as if he was calling a dog. "Come here, sweetheart."

A small girl stepped towards Claude, her blonde hair and blue eyes the same color as her fathers, her gaze curiously dead, her nose sharp. She looked at Levi as if he were a piece of distasteful furniture, unwelcome but _there._

"This is my little girl." Claude wrapped an arm around her. "I taught her everything I know. She helps her old man out quite a bit—she's better than most of the guys I know." He ruffled her hair. "Levi, this is Annie."

She waved at him apathetically.

He merely watched her. "You go to school?"

"Yeah." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "Barely started out here."

Levi nodded grimly, his stomach tightening uncomfortably. He could ask where she went to school but he _knew, _felt the answer hanging in the air between them, the tingle of his prickling instincts on his fingertips.

Annie looked up at her father. "Can I go now?"

Claude laughed, hugging her. "Yeah. Go to bed." He looked at Levi as she walked away. "Don't screw with her." His voice lowered. "She's more dangerous than she looks."

Levi pressed his lips together tightly, knew that he'd have to move much, much faster than he'd originally planned. "I bet."

* * *

**A/N-No idea what the devil's going on with me. I got quite a few more reviews and I don't think I can address all of them but I'll pick at the ones who had questions or reviews I just couldn't help replying to.**

**RukiaMas~ I'm glad you liked (and understood it because I'm horrible at these things) the plot I've taken such pains to shape. I hope I can keep you reading. **

**JanieZ~_You're _the one who makes _me _giddy. I really do mean it when I declare my undying love for you. Thank you so, so much. And I'm definitely going to delve into Levi's past a bit more. You've sort of inspired me to do so. **

**Andramion~Nikki! Nikki you draw pretty art for my fics and you leave pretty reviews and I wish I could just bundle you up and keep you by me all the time. It is rated M but the, ah, sexual stuff won't kick in until...later. I'll probably keep that on AO3 and the clean version here. I'm glad you gave my EreMika fic a shot despite disliking the pairing beforehand. Really, I'm just glad to have you as a friend.**

**Maesde~Thank you, really, _thank you _for even trying to leave me a review in the first place and trying again when it didn't post the first time. But I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news because if you hate misunderstandings between them there are going to be a lot more. I hope you don't despise me. **

**DreamArc~This quick update was entirely because of you. I didn't want any blood on my hands. _Live. _**

**AGirlWithACoin~Cinnamon _is _a spice, I'll have you know. It adds a flavor of danger to any meal. Use it wisely. **

**Rilr~Guilty. _Guilty. _I was leaning towards them, wasn't I? I'm glad you gave my EreMika story a shot, being a RivaMika shipper yourself. _Thank you _for calling my style wonderful and approving of my choices. And _never _feel obligated to review! I'm a humble woman. I'm content with favorites and follows and knowing your reading my works at all. Be lazy all you'd like.  
**

**DyingImmortal~You had quite a few questions! I'm sorry. Was my writing murky and vague? _I'm sorry. _Let me try to brush away the smoke. Yes, it is a modern AU and no there aren't any titans. And, yes, this is an EreMika story. The story (and the romance) revolves around their relationship. Also, I'm glad you feel the danger of the neighborhood, and I felt extremely accomplished when you said it felt very realistic. The setting is entirely based off of where I live. Muggings and stabbings are somewhat of a daily thing, here. Thank you for being so kind to me. **

**DeadFlash27~ You left me 2 reviews and both positive, no less. I adore you. This _is_ going to be long and as for it being well written...I'll do my best. **

**Pencil Samurai~Your. Review. Had me smiling. I'm glad I could make you react that way.**

**BeInfinitexx~Is it still good? (crosses fingers)**

**ShiftComma3~Thank you for that compliment. I tried very hard to keep them within the lines and also explore a little out of them. I hope you don't mind my exploration. Yell at me if you don't.**

**MaryJFox~Thank you. Jealousy, rage, despair and...plenty of other dark emotions will rear their ugly heads in later chapters. Think of all of this as the calm before the storm.**


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